About the end of this year James Ballantyne came to Edinburgh and established his 'Border Press' at Abbeyhill, in the neighbourhood of Holyrood House. He at this time received 'a liberal loan' from Scott, who thus became implicated in this unfortunate concern.
The condition of public affairs was now beginning to relieve somewhat the tension of bitter feeling. Cockburn remarks that, 'upon the whole events were bringing people into better humour. Somewhat less was said about Jacobinism, though still too much; and sedition had gone out. Napoleon's obvious progress towards military despotism opened the eyes of those who used to see nothing but liberty in the French revolution; and the threat of invasion, while it combined all parties in defence of the country, raised the confidence of the people in those who trusted them with arms, and gave them the pleasure of playing at soldiers. Instead of Jacobinism, Invasion became the word.'
Francis Horner writes from London: 'I understand the spirit of the people in London is, in general, almost as good as can be wished, and better than could have been expected. The police magistrates can form a tolerably good guess from their spies in the alehouses. In the country, particularly along the coast, the spirit of the people is said to be very high. Indeed no other country of such extent ever exhibited so grand a spectacle as the unanimity in which all political differences are at present lost.' In this letter to John Archibald Murray, referring to the Beacon, a weekly paper of 'incitements to patriotism,' he says, 'Pray have you engaged Walter Scott in these patriotic labours? His Border spirit of chivalry must be inflamed at present and might produce something. I wish he would try a song. I joined Mackintosh in exhorting Campbell to court the Tyrtaean muse: as yet he has produced nothing; not that I looked upon the success of his efforts with certainty, being not quite in his line; but a miracle produced "Hohenlinden," and this is now the age of miracles of every kind.' Later on this idea also occurred to Warren Hastings.
The war which broke out in 1803 and continued till Napoleon's fearful power was shattered for ever on the field of Waterloo, was a struggle altogether different in aims and spirit from that which began in 1792. Conquest, warlike fame, and personal aggrandisement were now Napoleon's aims, and the inspiring watchword of Liberty was now transferred from his banners to those of his enemies. In checking the great Frenchman's ambition the Allies were guarding the freedom of Europe. In Britain every man was roused to defence, and felt, like Horner, that 'the people of England were about to gain for civilisation and democracy a very splendid triumph over military despotism.' The threatened invasion was in every man's mind at every moment and in every place. The scene Cockburn now witnessed in Edinburgh had its counterpart in every city of the kingdom:—
'Edinburgh became a camp. We were all soldiers, one way or other. Professors wheeled in the college area; the side arms and the uniform peeped from behind the gown at the bar, and even on the bench; and the parade and the review formed the staple of men's talk and thoughts. Hope, who had kept his Lieutenant-Colonelcy when he was Lord Advocate, adhered to it, and did all its duties after he became Lord Justice-Clerk. This was thought unconstitutional by some; but the spirit of the day applauded it. Brougham served the same gun in a company of artillery with Playfair. James Moncrieff, John Richardson, James Grahame (The Sabbath), Thomas Thomson, and Charles Bell were all in one company of riflemen. Francis Horner walked about the streets with a musket, being a private in the Gentlemen Regiment. Dr. Gregory was a soldier, and Thomas Brown the moralist, Jeffrey, and many another since famous in more intellectual warfare. I, a gallant captain, commanded ninety-two of my fellow-creatures from 1804 to 1814—the whole course of that war.'
CHAPTER XXXVII
Enthusiasm of Volunteers—Drill and Sham Fights—Scott's Letters—Quartermaster—Anecdote by Cockburn—Recruiting for the Army—Indifference to Fear of Invasion—Greatness of the Danger—War Song of 1802.
Captain Coburn's company was the left flank company of the 'Western Battalion of Midlothian Volunteers.' The right flank company was commanded by John Archibald Murray (afterwards Lord Murray), so that both these companies had embryo judges at their head. So ardent was their zeal that, besides the general day performance in Heriot's Green and Bruntsfield Links, the two companies used to drill almost every night of the four winter months of 1804 and 1805, by torch-light, in the ground flat of the George Street Assembly Rooms, which was then all one earthen-floored apartment. Then there was drilling with the whole regiment, besides parades, reviews, and four to six inspections in the course of the year. Sometimes they were ordered on 'permanent duty' to Leith or Haddington, and billeted on the long-suffering citizens. Then there were the sham fights, the marches, and the continual serio-comedy of the officers' mess. Such was the state of affairs for years in every corner of Great Britain. All who enrolled as volunteers were exempt from the militia ballot and from the risk of having to serve in the field as long as the war lasted. Thus the volunteer ranks were easily filled; and the sense of duty, or the contagious excitement of the time, supplied plenty of officers. The whole population, in fact, became military. Any able-bodied man, of whatever rank, who was not a volunteer, or a local militiaman, had to explain or apologise for his singularity.
Scott's letters of this time are full of the camp scenes at Musselburgh. Writing in July, he says to Miss Seward, 'We are assuming a very military appearance. Three regiments of militia, with a formidable park of artillery, are encamped just by us. The Edinburgh Troop, to which I have the honour to be quarter-master, consists entirely of young gentlemen of family, and is, of course, admirably well mounted and armed. For myself, I must own that to one who has, like me, la tête un peu exaltée, "the pomp and circumstance of war" gives, for a time, a very poignant and pleasing sensation. The imposing appearance of cavalry, in particular, and the rush which marks their onset, appear to me to partake highly of the sublime.'
But the sublime was occasionally varied by a touch of the ludicrous. This is brought very vividly before us in the anecdote related by Cockburn, who, like the rest, records Scott's extraordinary zeal in the patriotic cause. 'It was,' he says, 'with him an absolute passion, indulgence in which gratified his feudal taste for war, and his jovial sociableness. He drilled, and drank, and made songs, with a hearty conscientious earnestness which inspired or shamed everybody within the attraction. I do not know if it is usual, but his troop used to practise, individually, with the sabre at a turnip,[1] which was stuck on the top of a staff, to represent a Frenchman, in front of the line. Every other trooper, when he set forward in his turn, was far less concerned about the success of his aim at the turnip, than about how he was to tumble. But Walter pricked forward gallantly, saying to himself, "cut them down, the villains, cut them down!" and made his blow, which from his lameness was often an awkward one, cordially muttering curses all the while at the detested enemy.'