THE BATTLE OF THE GRINDERS.
A DOMESTIC “AFFAIR.”
Quarrelsome dogs get dirty coats.
Old Proverb.
It is to be greatly regretted that the lower orders of the people in some of the towns where the military are quartered, often quarrel with the soldiers; and it is still more so, that the fault is generally, most unjustly, thrown upon the latter. From the admirable order which is preserved throughout the whole of the British army, ill conduct upon the part of the soldiery towards the people, as rarely occurs as it escapes exemplary punishment. A drunken soldier, like any other drunken individual, may be occasionally insolent or outrageous; but certainly not more so because he is a soldier. Unless under the effects of intoxication, the first offence never—or at least very seldom—comes from the soldier to the civilian. On the contrary, there exists, among the inhabitants of many towns, a strong disposition to insult the military—more particularly the officers: but this reprehensible disposition, I am happy to think, is wholly confined to the lowest order of the people. An authentic fact, which I am about to relate, throws considerable light upon the real nature of such quarrels. It is but too true, that when the report of an affray between those two ingredients in the state goes forth, every body exclaims, that the soldiers are in the wrong, and should be checked; military despotism is held up as making rapid strides; and British liberty is represented as in danger of being trodden under foot, forsooth, by an insolent soldiery! This is often the cry, even amongst enlightened men, when they hear of a quarrel between the military and the people, or rather the rabble; for, thank God! the men properly designated by that grand and mighty term, “the people,” are far removed in mind as well as manners, from those composing the ignorant and factious class who delight in doing all the injury in their power, not only to a soldier, but to every one entrusted with the preservation of social order. These, thank God! are also of the fewer number.
The Grinders[21] (as they are termed) of Sheffield were formerly very annoying to the dragoons quartered near them; and, unless they have changed their manners within the last three or four years, continue in that evil disposition to this day. But I have little hope that any change has taken place; for they appeared of that order whose noses were peculiarly suited to the grinding-stone; and though the wheel may go round for half a century, it will, I fear, never give their intellects a polish, even of the dullest kind. But although the better classes of Sheffielders are neither famous for hospitality to nor regard for the military, yet they are never forward in offering disrespect to them; and the officers quartered amongst them have sometimes met with individuals worthy of that gratitude which is due for every cordial and hospitable attention.
Some years ago, the 5th Dragoon Guards, or Green Horse, were on duty at Sheffield.—The officers of the heavy dragoons, to which class this regiment belongs, have never been remarkable for military coxcombry; on the contrary, they have been always remarked for sedate and gentlemanly demeanour. There is, therefore, less pretext for the insult which gave rise to the conflict I am about to describe.
Two of the Green Horse officers—a captain and a subaltern, were proceeding quietly from Sheffield towards their barracks, which lay about half a mile out of the town: a squad of Grinders coming from their work overtook them; and, grinning through the dirty tunic which invariably covers the faces of all their tribe, opened a volley of gibes and jeers upon the officers. “There be two b—— red herrings!” said one. “They're a gotten more gould on their jackets than in their pockets,[22] I'll warrant,” observed another, and so on; accompanying their coarse remarks by an expression of countenance and manner not to be misunderstood by the passers-by, who rather encouraged the outrage by approving looks. This provoking annoyance continued several minutes, but the officers walked quietly on, and apparently took no notice of their persecutors. As they proceeded, two privates of their regiment happened to turn out of a passage on their way to the barracks, and thus accidentally fell in, close to the rear of the grinders; and had, therefore, a full opportunity of witnessing what was going forward. As soon as they perceived the real state of matters, both stepped up to the officers; and having given the salute in line, one of them respectfully asked, “if their honours would have any objection to let them give the fellows a small bit of a threshing.” So reasonable a request could hardly be denied: the only fear the officers had, was that the grinders, who were five in number, might prove too many for the soldiers. However, a good will is half the battle; and, as the two dragoons were strapping active fellows, without any kind of arms except those with which nature had furnished them—one, a well-made Lancashire man of five feet eleven inches, and the other, a hard square-built Hibernian, of about two inches less—and as both were in light stable dresses, which seemed cut out for the occasion, it was decided by the officers that their men should, if possible, render to the five grinders what, in justice, they so well deserved.