This hint, so reasonable in itself, was immediately adopted, and Sir Francis Burdett, who was well acquainted with their haunts, was ordered into the neighbourhood of Smithfield with a competent number of tickets. He was on the point of setting out, when the Editor of the Morning Post observed, that forgery[[106]] was so common at present, that he hardly thought it prudent to admit all who might come with a bit of scribbled paper: on this it was determined to distribute the price of admission amongst a certain number of people to be selected by the Envoy:—these, it was rightly concluded, would not fail to appear, from motives of vanity, as they could have no other possible chance of dining with the Premier Dupe, we would say Duke, in England. It now remained to determine the sum: this, after a short discussion, was fixed at Eight Shillings and Sixpence per head, “which,” said the Editor of the Morning Post, “will shew we cannot he persons of mean rank, since we can afford, in hard times, to give so much for a dinner”;[[107]] and Citizen Bosville was desired to advance the money upon the credit of the Whig Fund.
Previous to the meeting, the chairman dispatched a note to Sir William Addington, requesting that the Crown and Anchor might be exempted from the visitation of his runners during the morning of the 24th [Jan., 1798]. To this Sir William assented, on condition that it should be recommended to the gentlemen, to leave their pocket-books and watches at home, that there might be as little temptation as possible to break the peace. Thus everything was arranged with a precaution that seemed to set accident at defiance.
Before four o’clock the passage to the LARGE ROOM was crammed, when, on a hint that dinner was on the point of being served, one of the head waiters advanced to the great door, and opened a wicket for the admission of the company, as fast as they paid down their money. Two or three had already passed in good order, when Mr. John Nicholls advanced, and instead of 8s. 6d., produced to the astonished receiver, seventeen of his PRINTED SPEECHES, which, valuing them at sixpence a-piece, he contended would make up the sum required. These “assets” however, were absolutely rejected; and a violent dispute was on the point of commencing, when Sir Christopher Hawkins stept forward, and whispering a few words, which we did not hear, obtained leave for his friend to pass. The Speeches were therefore deposited, and Mr. Nicholls was already got within the wicket, when the man suddenly pulled him back by the coat, and the dispute recommenced with more violence than ever. Upon inquiry into the cause of this new tumult, we found that a wag (whom we afterwards discovered to be Mr. Jekyll) had played the member for Tregony a trick; having taken an opportunity, in the crowd, of extracting the genuine speeches from the pocket of the Honourable Member, and replacing them by the same number of the spurious ones, printed for Mr. Wright, the publisher of this Paper. These the waiter very properly refused to receive, alleging, and indeed truly, that instead of six pence a-piece, the whole seventeen were not worth six farthings.
This altercation continued so long, that the company grew impatient; and Mr. Bryan Edwards, a little ashamed of his friend, who still continued obstinate, offered to furnish his quota. Harmony now seemed to be restored, when all at once a cry of astonishment broke forth that beggars all description. On putting his hand into his pocket for the price of admission, Mr. E. suddenly turned pale, and exclaimed, “by G—, gentlemen, some of you have picked my pockets!” A hundred voices instantly repeated the same cry, and a dreadful scene of confusion and uproar took place.
Ardebant cuncta et fracta compage ruebant.
What the consequence would have been, it is impossible to say, had not the waiter, with an air of authority, commanded the doors to be shut at each end of the passage, and every man to exhibit the contents of his pocket. A faint cry of No! No! was over-ruled; and Sir Francis Burdett produced an old Red Cap from the bosom of his shirt, which he put into the hands of the Duke of Bedford, who was appointed collector-general by acclamation. With this his Grace went, from man to man, executing his duty with the utmost fairness and impartiality; and when he had finished, poured out the contents of the cap before them all. These, it must be confessed, were a little heterogeneous, consisting, besides a large sum of money, of a brass knocker (this was immediately claimed by the landlord), a pewter pot squeezed together, a pair of pattens, a pint decanter, a duck ready trussed for dressing, a great quantity of potatoes, and a vinegar cruet. What was most extraordinary was, that though, as his Grace afterwards declared, the money was found in very unequal portions, yet the total sum, which was £222, 5s. 6d., being divided among the company, amounting to 523 persons, produced 8s. 6d. for each individual, with the exception of the Member for Tregony, who brought nothing but his speech, and Capt. Morris, who pays for everything with a Song.
Nothing material occurred during the Dinner, which was allowed to be excellent of its kind, and where no such dish as Cow-heel (as maliciously reported in The True Briton) made its appearance.
As soon as the cloth was removed, the Duke of Norfolk took the Chair amidst repeated plaudits,[[108]] and addressed the Company in these words:
“Three virtuous Men, Citizens, have stood up in defence of Liberty—Maximilian Robespierre, Collot D’Herbois, and Charles James Fox:—The first is guillotined; the second transported to Cayenne; and the third”——Here all eyes were immediately upon Mr. Fox, who now entered the room, supported by Citizens John Gale Jones and John Horne Tooke—“As the Right Hon. Gentleman (resumed the Duke, a little peevishly) has mistaken his cue, and appeared sooner than he ought, I shall spare his modesty the panegyric I was preparing, and shortly conclude with proposing the health of Charles James Fox.”—This was drank with three times three.
As soon as the clamour had subsided, Mr. Fox arose and said, “That language, at least any which he could boast, was inadequate to the exquisite feelings of gratitude which at once delighted and oppressed him, at the sight of so numerous and so respectable a body of free and independent Citizens, met for a purpose which would make this the proudest and the happiest day of his life”. Having dwelt a little on this idea, Mr. Fox observed, “that he would not interrupt the conviviality of the day by a long Speech: he knew there were several present who came to hear him make a long Speech, but he would not make a long Speech—to what purpose should he do it?—what could he add to the Speech lately delivered by him, and so faithfully recorded in the Anti-Jacobin, a contemptible Publication, but one to which the praise of Accuracy could not be denied. The new and extraordinary circumstances of the times called for new and extraordinary measures: he would, therefore, if they pleased, compress what he had to say into a Song—(loud applauses)—One word only.—He owed both the burden and the idea of this Song to the Morning Chronicle. He had yesterday, the 23rd, found there A begging Address to the Nation, with Date Obolum Belisario prefixed to it as a Motto. This had pleased him much, and this morning at breakfast he had endeavoured to adapt it, mutatis mutandis, to his own circumstances: he should now have the honour of giving it.”