About this period his father’s earthly existence terminated; and Erskine, who appeared as one of the mourners, was much impressed with the solemnity of the funeral obsequies. Having abandoned all thoughts of a naval career, he turned his thoughts to a military life, and had sufficient influence to obtain an ensign’s commission in the 1st Regiment of Foot, with which he straightway went to Minorca. His commission had cost all the money he possessed, and an application for a small allowance had been refused by his eldest brother, the eccentric Earl of Buchan, who afterward, on this ground, boasted that the future chancellor owed every thing to him. Yet, under these inauspicious circumstances, he contracted a romantic marriage with a young lady of respectable parentage, which luckily proved more propitious than is usual with unions formed under circumstances so forbidding.
While stationed in Minorca, though there appeared little prospect indeed of his acquirements ever being turned to account, he devoted himself with remarkable assiduity to the cultivation of his mind, by a profound and earnest attention to the English classics. In this way, by long and deep study, he became most familiar with the works of Shakspeare and Milton; so that, with a very slight knowledge of Latin authors, and almost none of Greek, he—a native of the north—rendered himself a consummate master of the English tongue. His tastes were thoroughly intellectual, and he even indulged them by officiating as temporary chaplain to the regiment; to which he not only read prayers, but preached two sermons from the drumhead, with no small measure of success.
On returning to England, Erskine obtained six months’ leave of absence, part of which he spent in London. While there he had the advantage of meeting, conversing with, and encountering in discussion, no less eminent a person than Dr. Johnson, attended by his faithful dog and biographer. This was at the house of Sir Alexander Macdonald; and the “young officer in the regimentals of the Scots Royals,” attracted much attention by the fluency, precision, and vivacity of his discourse. At the same date Erskine appeared to advantage as the author of a pamphlet on the abuses of the British army, which had an extensive circulation, and procured him some fame. Soon after this he was promoted to a lieutenancy, and for some time longer endured the disagreeable process of marching with the regiment from one place to another. His family and his dissatisfaction gradually increasing, a gloomy cloud seemed to hang over his existence; and there was ever before him the dismal prospect of his life proving a long series of imaginings never to be realized, and of aspirations never to be gratified.
Under such circumstances, while he was quartered in a provincial town, a great thought was born within him. One day, to drive away care, dispel annoyance, and perhaps to gratify a rational curiosity, he strolled into the assize court, where the great Lord Mansfield was presiding, with his wonted serene and impenetrable dignity. Perhaps birds of Erskine’s feather were rarely seen in such haunts. At all events, his regimentals quickly attracted the eye of the veteran judge, who, struck, no doubt, by the peculiarly elegant and aristocratic appearance of the singularly intelligent-looking officer, even condescended to inquire who he was. On being informed that he was a younger son of the late Earl of Buchan, and very much in the same position in which the noble, learned, and influential Chief Justice might have found himself, but for the good fortune which had early led him to fatten and flourish in the pastures of the South, the latter kindly accommodated the lieutenant of foot with a place beside him on the bench, and courteously explained the case that was being tried. Thus seated by a man who had raised himself, by his genius, from the oatmeal porridge and aristocratic poverty of Scone Palace to wealth and an illustrious position, it struck the aspiring and discontented subaltern that here was a sphere in which his intellect might be exercised with advantage and renown. He therefore availed himself of his distinguished countryman’s politeness, which took the shape of an invitation to dinner, to state the hardship of his lot, and explain his views. So truly great a man as Lord Mansfield would hardly, at such a moment, forget his own early trials and struggles. In any case, his young acquaintance was rewarded with some slight encouragement, and the sage advice to consult his friends. Erskine’s surviving parent readily approved of the plan; and, between jest and earnest, she said he must be Lord Chancellor. Accordingly, having formed his plans, he was admitted as a student of law at Lincoln’s Inn, and, at the same time, entered himself as a fellow-commoner of Trinity College, Cambridge, where in spite of narrow means, his wit and talent soon brought him into notice. The sale of his military commission produced him a serviceable sum of money; and, divesting himself of scarlet uniform, he proceeded to accomplish himself in the composition of English. An amusing specimen of his skill in versifying is a parody of Gray’s “Bard,” which gained him some applause. It was produced on the occasion of his being detained from dinner at the College hall by the tardiness of his hair-dresser, and begins with this not very complimentary stanza:
“Ruin seize thee, scoundrel Coe!
Confusion on thy frizzing wait!
Hadst thou the only comb below,
Thou never more should’st touch my pate.
Club, nor queue, nor twisted tail,
Nor e’en thy chatt’ring, barber, shall avail,
To save thy horse-whipped back from daily fears,
From Cantab’s curse, from Cantab’s tears!”
Having taken the honorary degree of A.M. in 1778, the future defender of Lord George Gordon was called to the bar in the same year. When settled in London, he practiced his oratorical powers at debating-clubs, and pursued his legal studies in the chambers of a special pleader; yet it does not appear that his knowledge of the law was ever very profound, notwithstanding his possessing, in some measure, a legal intellect. His domestic arrangements were on the most economical principle; there is even a tradition to the effect that his honorable spouse was under the necessity of acting as washerwoman for their family. His fare was of the humblest description; his dress was remarkable only for its shabbiness; he frequently found it no easy matter to provide the necessaries of life for the passing day; and he was heard thanking God that, out of his own family, he did not know a lord. It appears that his acquaintance with attorneys was still more limited in extent. Being complimented on his health and spirits, he answered sportively that he ought to look well, having nothing else to do, as had been remarked of somebody’s trees.
But a man with the blood of a long line of earls in his veins, and with the consciousness of already having given proof of superior endowments, was not likely, while enduring galling poverty, to be wanting in aspirations after fame, or to lose an opportunity of winning a name and bettering his circumstances. Erskine felt within him both the stirrings of ambition and the capacity to do and dare with success, if an occasion were presented. His affairs were probably at the worst, when accident threw Captain Baillie in his way.
That brave and gallant officer had, as Lieutenant-governor of Greenwich Hospital, written and published a statement of abuses existing in the establishment, reflecting with particular acerbity on Lord Sandwich, first lord of the Admiralty. For this pamphlet Baillie was forthwith suspended by the Board, and a prosecution commenced against him by some of the less important individuals, whom he had assailed in pursuance of what he regarded as the performance of his duty. While the case was in prospect of being tried, Erskine happened to meet the redoubted captain at a dinner-party, and, without being aware of his presence, expatiated on the subject of the prosecution with so much warmth and animation, that though they were not introduced on that occasion, the ex-lieutenant-governor declared that the briefless barrister should be one of his counsel; but as there were to be four seniors, the latter naturally despaired of receiving any attention. However, at a consultation, when the others were inclined to consent to a favorable compromise, Erskine respectfully dissented, and advised them to stand the hazard of a trial; whereupon the captain swore a round oath, and cried, as he caught the future occupier of “the marble chair” in his strong arms, “You are the man for me!” When the case came on, the seniors were heard at great length on behalf of Captain Baillie; and the last of them, Mr. Hargrave, being in some way indisposed, was obliged to retire several times during his lengthened argument, and thus so protracted the proceedings, that on his concluding Lord Mansfield said that the remaining counsel should be heard next morning. This was precisely what Erskine desired, and indeed appeared almost providential, as it afforded him time to arrange during the night the heads of what he was to say. Besides, he had the advantage of addressing the court with refreshed energies and revived faculties. When the judges took their places next morning, he rose from the back row, and delivered a speech of such marvelous ability, that it has since been regarded by sagacious critics as the most brilliant forensic display ever witnessed under similar circumstances. As he left the hall attorneys flocked around to congratulate him on his extraordinary triumph, and from that memorable day business flowed in upon him. Being asked how he could so boldly face a venerable judge like Lord Mansfield—the very type and figure of justice—his feeling reply was, that he fancied his children were tugging at his gown, and saying, “Now is the time to get us bread!”
Erskine was next selected, on account of his naval intelligence, to draw up the defense to be spoken by Admiral Keppel, on his trial. This he did with much success; and the admiral, on being acquitted, presented him with bank-notes to the amount of a thousand pounds, which he flourished in triumph before his friends, exclaiming, with the almost boyish and mirthful fancy, ever freely indulged in private, “Voilà the nonsuit of cow-beef!”
The skill, dexterity, and eloquence, together with the complete devotion to the interests of his client, which he displayed in the conduct of cases, led to an extensive and lucrative practice; and in 1781 he was retained as counsel for the silly but then enthusiastically Protestant Lord George Gordon, whom he defended with brilliant power and signal success. In 1783, though having then been only five years at the bar, and delivered for a still briefer space from the horrors of “cow-beef” and threadbare garments, it was thought advisable to confer on him a patent of precedency. This gave him the privilege of donning a silk gown and sitting within the bar. It was likewise deemed prudent to have him brought into Parliament, and he was returned to the House of Commons as member for Portsmouth, to try his skill as a debater among the giants who then ruled the Legislature. The result was by no means gratifying to his numerous friends and admirers, who really seem to have entertained the unreasonable expectation that he was to trample Pitt in the dust as easily and proudly as he had done the nameless creatures of Lord Sandwich. In fact, his acquaintance with political matters was limited, from the keen and earnest attention which he had given to his professional pursuits; and his new position was so utterly different from that to which he had been accustomed, as to render him somewhat like a fish out of the water. In Westminster Hall, his ardor, his enthusiasm, the sparkle of his piercing glance, the grace and nobleness of his figure, the freedom and celerity of his movements, the clearness and flexibility of his voice, the surpassing beauty of his diction, the correct taste with which he conceived and the singular felicity with which he executed most difficult flights, and his figures of speech characterized by a boldness which unexceptional success alone could redeem from the charge of temerity, had fascinated juries, startled dignified sages of the law out of their propriety, and commanded the admiration of experienced advocates. But in the House of Commons his ardent spirit was chilled, his enthusiastic temperament damped, and his eloquent tongue made to falter by the scornful stare, the contemptuous indifference, and the cold sarcasm of the dread son of Chatham.