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But, if we can believe the same artist, Baldwin and his congeners were outdone this year by a woman descending from a balloon in a parachute. It is taken from an etching by Rowlandson, dated the 25th of October, 1811, and entitled "Balloon Hunting." It represents the mishaps of a party of ladies who went balloon hunting across country, in a one-horse vehicle, the shafts of which are smashed, and the horse is being reduced to docility by the driver. I know of no woman who descended by means of a parachute, in this year.

They were not novelties, for André Jacques Garnerin, the Aëronaut, came down in one in 1802, and, according to Larousse, Elisa, daughter of Jean Baptiste Olivier Garnerin, brother of the above, was the first woman who tried a "drop from the clouds." She made her first descent in 1815, and in 1820 had made over twenty.

Taken as a whole, the French Prisoners of War, whose numbers were ever increasing, were not a bad lot of fellows. There were many breaches of parole, and large numbers of the rank and file, and seamen got away; for, in a Trial in the Court of King's Bench, November 14, 1811, the Attorney-General asserted that, of the French Officers, prisoners of war, on their parole, in this country, one-fourth had effected their escape: and that one condition on which smugglers from this country were permitted to land their goods in France, was the bringing over with them, a French prisoner.

Those interned at Cupar fitted up a neat little Theatre, which was opened on the 3rd of September. A prologue composed by one of the Officers, complimentary to the inhabitants for their hospitality to the Captives, was spoken and acted. This was followed by a Comedy in verse, by Regnard, called "Les Folies Amoureuses," and an after piece "Le Quaterne." The Scene painting, interior decorations of the theatre, Stage Apparatus, and Costumes, were all their own work: nor did they stop there, for they had an excellent band of their own.

But they could behave sternly on occasion, if there is any truth in the following story. In May, 1811, the French prisoners confined on board the Sampson (prison ship lying in the Medway), formed a conspiracy to forcibly take possession of the ship, and effect their escape, which was prevented by one of their number imparting secretly their projected plan to the commanding officer. Enraged at the disappointment of their hopes, they used every effort to find out the individual by whose communication their secret had transpired; and having, as they thought, fixed upon the right man, as soon as they were locked up for the night, they formed a Court, for his trial, at which a procés verbal was drawn up, declaratory of their proceedings. The suspected traitor was found guilty, but there was a difference of opinion as to his punishment, and it was at last resolved and carried into effect, that he should be tattooed on his forehead and cheeks "J'ai vendu mes frères aux Anglais abord le ponton 'Le Sampson,' 31 Mai, 1811."

There is not much more to chronicle for the remainder of this year, except the Census, and we must glance at the figures to see the enormous difference in the population then, and now. In 1811, the whole population was 12,552,144, in 1881, 35,246,562, or, in other words, the population had all but trebled itself in 70 years. In the last Census (1881) the sexes were very evenly balanced, being 17,253,947 males, and 17,992,615 females, and so they were in 1811, 6,310,548 males, and 6,241,596 females.

Still the Luddite Riots must not be forgotten, for, at one time, they threatened to be somewhat serious. They began in the neighbourhood of Nottingham, the Manufacturers there, having been obliged, from the decrease of demand for their manufactures, to discharge many of their workmen, and consequently much distress was caused. Nor was this all; a certain wide frame for weaving stockings had been introduced, which saved much labour, and, consequently, fewer hands were wanted. In November, these riots became rather serious, as, not only were the obnoxious frames smashed, and manufacturers' stock destroyed, but millers, corn dealers, &c., suffered, and the military had to be called out. Their name was taken from their imaginary leader, one Captain Ludd, who never had any existence, but probably stood for the Committee of Management.

At this time, at all events, the public were free from the sickening details of the illness of Royalty, such as they have lately had – in the case of the German Emperor, Frederic – details which could do no good whatever to the outer world, and which must have been very painful to the relatives of the deceased Kaiser. They managed things better in George III.'s reign. If the medical men quarrelled, they did not openly wash their dirty linen, but it only was known to a few that Dr. Willis's treatment of his Royal patient, during his former illness, had been considered unnecessarily severe, and that, perhaps, they were not too well content to have him associated with them in the present crisis: still for the first year or so, the people, who really loved old Farmer George, were kept fairly acquainted with the state of his health, until it became hopeless – and then, perhaps very wisely, they only were fed with the merest details of his disorder.

In February, the King was getting so well that the Queen and one of the Princesses, on more than one occasion visited him: then he suffered from a paroxysm of mania, to which succeeded a calm, during which he took his constitutional walks on the Terrace. In March, he got better, so much so, that on the 31st of March, the prayers for his recovery were discontinued in the Chapel Royal, and, at the Queen's Monthly Council, it was hoped that he would recover, so that he had the key of the Cabinet Council Despatch Boxes, and, in other ways, was treated as a responsible being. In May, his health was capricious, but still he was able to walk and ride in public. June brought a relapse, and his case was deemed hopeless, yet he still occasionally took walks. In July, he was in a very dangerous state, opiates had to be administered, and he partook of very little solid food. In August, it was said that his suite of apartments were padded to prevent his doing himself a mischief, but this was denied. September was a better month for him, but, in October, he retrograded. November and December only show him as leading a fairly healthy animal existence.

CHAPTER VI.
1812

The Regent's doings – The Royal Sprain – Colonel McMahon – Luddite and Factory Riots – Scarcity of Bullion – Murder of Mr. Perceval

Judging by the barometer of public opinion, the satirical prints, the topic of conversation in the commencement of this year, was the Prince Regent. Occupying the exalted position that he did, he naturally was the observed of all, and his foibles and peccadilloes were made the laughing-stock, or were censured of all. And the Caricaturists did not spare him. Take this illustration as a sample; it is called "1812 or Regency à la Mode," where we see our "fat friend," as Brummell called him, having his stays laced, and, during that operation, occupying himself by rouging his cheeks.

He would allow very little of his doings to be known by the public, and the movements of Royalty, as we know it in the Court Circular, were recorded in the baldest manner possible, except on one occasion, when the Regent sprained his ancle, and there was a very long and elaborate report thereon.

Morning Chronicle, Saturday, November 16, 1811: – "The Prince Regent. – His Royal Highness, we are concerned to state, was not well enough to come to town yesterday. At the Party given by the Duchess of York at Oatlands, on Wednesday evening, the Duchess made arrangements for a Ball. The Prince Regent agreed to lead off the dance with his daughter, the Princess Charlotte, for his partner. Whilst his Royal Highness was leading the Princess briskly along, his right foot came in contact with the leg of a chair or sofa, which gave his leg a twist, and sprained his ancle. His Royal Highness took but little notice of it that night, but in the morning he found it worse than he expected, &c., &c."

Whatever was the matter with him, he did not leave Oatlands till the 9th of December, or nearly a month after the Ball. Nobody believed in the royal sprain, but the story that did gain credence, and was made the most of by the Caricaturist and Satirist, was that the Regent, at that Ball, grossly insulted Lady Yarmouth, for which he was most heartily, and soundly, thrashed by her husband, Lord Yarmouth, and hence the royal indisposition. Walcot, as "Peter Pindar, Esqre," wrote one of his most scathing odes, and that is saying something, entitled "The R – l Sprain, or A Kick from Yar – h to Wa – s, being the particulars of an expedition to Oat – ds, and the Sprained Ancle."

There were several Caricatures, all with the same tendency. One was "A Kick from Yarmouth to Wales, December, 1811," which shows Lord Yarmouth holding the Regent by his coat collar and vigorously kicking him behind, the Regent yelling and trying to get away, Lady Yarmouth sitting on a sofa looking on. There is attached to this, a poetical effusion of fourteen verses, to be sung to the tune of "The Love-sick Frog." The first verse runs thus:

 
"A Prince he would a raking go.
Heigh ho! said Rowly.
Whether his people would have him or no;
With a rowly-powly, gammon and spinach,
Heigh ho! said Anthony Rowly."
 

Then there was "The Royal Milling Match," published December, 1811, in which is depicted Lord Yarmouth, who, by a paper sticking out of his coat pocket, was "Late a pupil of the Champion of England," is "fibbing merrily" on the royal countenance; at the same time exclaiming, "There is plenty of fair game, but no poaching on my Manor. My action is quick, and put in strait forward – so!" The Regent calls out, "Help, help, I have made a false step, and sprained my Ancle." A servant coming in, says to Lord Yarmouth, "Lord, Sir, don't be so harsh, you'll sprain the gentleman's ancle. By goles, this is what they call Milling indeed!" Lady Yarmouth views the scene from behind a screen.

The most amusing one I have seen, is given in the accompanying illustration, which is by Geo. Cruikshank, published January, 1812. It is called "Princely Agility, or the Sprained Ancle." The doctor at the foot of the bed (probably meant for Halford) is fomenting the foot, which seems its normal size, and says to the attendant, "Take that waistcoat away, or we shall make the town talk." The Princess Charlotte is examining the foot, and exclaims, "Bless me, how it's swelled!" Lady Jersey, who is administering to the invalid prince, is inattentive to her duties; while the Regent, with "two lovely black eyes," is calling to Colonel McMahon, "Oh! my Ancle, Oh! – bring me my Wig – Oh! my Ancle! Take care of my Whiskers, Mac! Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, o – o – o – oh, o!" Sir John Douglas is feeling his pulse, saying, "Out a way, Mon, you are always exposing yourself." John Bull is coming in at the door, but is pushed back by Adams, with "Indeed, Bull, 'tis only a sprained ancle." But John Bull says, "John Bull is not to be fobbed off so easily, Master Lawyer."

George Cruikshank was not very particular as to his likenesses, as we may see by his ideal Colonel McMahon, who was a servant worthy of his master, to whom he was most useful.

Walcot "Pindarised" him in an Ode, "Mac the First," in which he makes him say:

 
"Once a boy, in ragged dress,
Who would little Mac caress?
When in the streets, starv'd and sad,
I was a common errand lad."
 

But, be his origin whatever it might have been, he was a tool well fitted for the use of his august master, who, it must be owned, endeavoured to repay him; but, also, at the public expense. In 1811 General Fox died, and at his death, the office of Paymaster of the Widows' Pensions became vacant. It was a perfect sinecure, the duties being done by others, and the salary attached to the office was over £2,000 per annum. The Commissioners of 1783, and of 1808, both reported and recommended the abolition of Paymaster and Deputy-Paymaster of Widows' Pensions, as being unnecessary, the one having very little to do, the other, nothing at all. The office of Paymaster had, in particular, been recommended to be done away with, on the demise of General Fox: but it was given to Colonel McMahon.

On January 9, 1812, on a Motion for Supply, Mr. Creevey spoke decidedly against this appointment, and moved as an Amendment, "That the House would, to-morrow se'nnight, resolve itself into a Committee of Supply, in order to give an opportunity, in the interim, for the consideration which he had suggested," namely, that they would take into their earliest consideration, the various offices of emolument recently granted by the Crown to several of their members. This amendment was lost.

On the 22nd of February, the question of the Army Estimates being on, Mr. Bankes moved as an Amendment, "That the amount of the sum expected to be paid to the Paymaster of Widows' Pensions, being 12d. in the pound on the said Pensions (£2,790 1s.) be deducted from the said sum." This amendment was lost by a majority of sixteen.

But on the next night Mr. Bankes brought the matter up again, and moved the virtual abolition of the office by omitting the sum necessary to pay it – and this was carried by a majority of three.

There was consternation among the Regent's party at the temerity of the House in thus thwarting the Royal wishes, and, of course, the recalcitrant Commons must be taught a lesson, so McMahon was appointed Keeper of the Privy Purse, and Private Secretary to the Prince Regent; and, in the caricature of "The Privy Purse and Political Beggars" we find McMahon installed in his new position. Sheridan says, "Dear, good, worthy Countryman, thou Pine Apple of Erin! consider I was burnt out,⁹ not a penny in my purse, my credit very low – do – dear Mac, for the love of St. Patrick, give me a handfull." Buckingham: "I have not above a Hundred Thousand a year, these hard times. Pray remember the Poor!" Temple: "With my wife's fortune, and my own, I have not above Forty Thousand a Year. Pray remember the Poor!" Grenville: "I have not above Fifty Thousand a Year, a slender pittance. Pray remember the Poor!" Mac Mahon replies: "Paws Off! no Blarney will do with me! I'm up to all your Gammon! and so is my dear Master. I'm cosy at last, in spite of all your speeches and paragraphs, and you may all go to the Devil, your Master!!!"

And, doubtless, he thought he was cosy, but the Commons would not stand the job, and on the 23rd of March his appointment was brought before Parliament, and the Hon. J. W. Ward asked whether it was a fact, and, if so, what salary was he to have? Mr. Perceval, as Chancellor of the Exchequer, admitted the appointment, and pointed out that Colonel Taylor had occupied the same position towards the King for many years, and the same salary that was given to that gentleman had been continued to Colonel McMahon. Mr. Whitbread pointed out that Colonel Taylor's appointment was owing to the infirmities of the King, and that previously, there had been no such post.

On the 14th of April, Mr. C. W. Wynn, in the House of Commons, moved for the Production of the Appointment of Colonel McMahon to the new Office of Private Secretary to his Royal Highness the Prince Regent. A very long discussion took place, and on a division, the motion was negatived by a majority of seventy-six. But the Ministry felt that the House was decidedly against them, and the appointment was not persisted in – McMahon afterwards became a pensioner on the Privy Purse.

During the whole of January the Luddites were very violent in, and about Nottingham, doing an immense amount of mischief, in spite of all the troops could do, and they were so well organized that very few prisoners were taken. In April the agitation spread to Leeds, where machinery was broken, and cloth &c., destroyed. Then there were food riots among the Cornish miners, which lasted until the arrival of troops. More Luddite riots at Leeds. Food riots among the Colliers at Macclesfield. Then Bristol got tainted with the same lawless spirit; then Sheffield, Stockport, Carlisle, Manchester, Bolton, and elsewhere, but these riots were principally directed against machinery. At the latter end of April, one of the chief ringleaders, a man named Walker, was arrested, and safely lodged in Chester Gaol. He was said to be General Ludd himself.

In May, there still were riots in the manufacturing district, but these principally took the form of organized burglaries. At last, on May 24th, there was a Special Commission to try those who had been captured. Some were sentenced to imprisonment, some to transportation, which, in those days really meant being sent across the seas, and sixteen were condemned to be hanged – but five, only, were left for death. In other parts of the country some were hanged, but this really served only "pour encourager les autres," for the riots still went on during June, August, and part of September; but they were then dying out, a letter from Huddersfield, dated the 10th of September, saying, "Several persons have been apprehended on various charges of Luddism, and are now in custody here. A number of others have, this week, abjured their illegal oath, and taken the oath of allegiance; they see the calamities they have brought upon themselves and neighbours, by the atrocious depredations they have committed, and the delusions they have laboured under; and it is to be hoped they will all follow the laudable example of those their associates, in discharging themselves from that unlawful and ruinous system in which they have, unfortunately, been engaged, and return to their allegiance before it is too late." And so they did, for we do not hear much of them afterwards. They were very ignorant, the price of provisions, owing to the war, pressed heavily upon them, work was scarce, and, to their minds, looked likely to be scarcer, owing to the introduction of Machinery. Had the Home Government been a strong one, the riots might have been stifled at their birth, for there was not the false philanthropy preached then, as now, and the soldiery, both officers and men, were ready to obey orders unflinchingly, and without fear of being called to trial afterwards for their obedience.

Guineas and Bank Notes still exercised the public mind, and the former must indeed have been hoarded up when we learn, early in January, that 34,000 guineas in gold, the property of a gentleman deceased, were offered for sale on 'Change at Belfast. Bank of England notes were forged to a great extent, so much so, that the total value of the forged Notes presented at the Bank of England for payment, and refused, during eleven years, from the 1st of January, 1801, to the 31st of December, 1811, was £101,661.

"Bank Notes, it is said, once Guineas defied

 
To swim to a point in Wade's foaming tide;
But 'ere they could reach the opposite brink,
Bank Notes cried to Gold, "Help me! Cash us! I sink."
 
 
That Paper should sink, and guineas should swim,
May appear to some folks a ridiculous whim;
But before they condemn, let them hear this suggestion —
In pun-making, gravity's out of the question."
 

In September of this year Silver had risen to 6s. 8d. per oz., and Gold to £5 10s., equalling in value for a guinea £1 9s. 6d.

There is a curious story of the value of money, told in November of this year. "A Gentleman in the Country sent to his banker in the City, a parcel of guineas which were both light and heavy, with directions to pass the value to his credit in account. The banker, being a good and loyal subject, and unwilling to do an unlawful act, credited his correspondent, with the heavy guineas at the rate of £1 1s. each, the value by law established; but the light ones he sent to a Silver-smith, who returned for them Bank Notes, at the rate of £1 7s. each. A light guinea is thus proved to be worth 6s. more than one of standard weight."

In April, Napoleon put out a feeler for peace with Great Britain, on the basis that the Bourbons should reign in Spain; but, when inquiry was made whether by that, he meant Ferdinand VII. he gave no reply, and the negotiation, if ever serious, fell through.

One of the principal social events of the year was the Murder of the Right Hon. Spencer Perceval, Chancellor of the Exchequer, First Lord of the Treasury, and Prime Minister of England, who was shot by the hand of an assassin John Bellingham, on the 11th of May, whilst passing through the lobby of the House of Commons. He was born November 1, 1762, so that, when he fell, he was in the prime of life. He was of very good family, being the second son of John, Earl of Egmont, in Ireland, and Baron Lovel and Holland in England. His family was one of the very few that really came over with the Conqueror, for Robert the second son of Eudes, sovereign Duke of Brittany, settled in Normandy, and there became possessed of the lordships of Brewehal and Ivery. As stated, he came over in the Norman filibuster's suite, and in the course of two or three generations the name of Brewehal, became changed into Perceval – and ever afterwards so remained.

Spencer Perceval, studied for, and practised at, the Bar, being made King's Counsel in 1796. In the same year, his first cousin, Lord Compton, who was member for Northampton, succeeded to his father's title of Earl of Northampton; and Perceval, offering himself for the vacant seat, was elected without opposition. His rise was rapid, and in 1801, being then in his 39th year, he joined Lord Addington's Government as Solicitor-General. In 1802 he was made Attorney-General. When Pitt resumed the government, he retained his appointment, but resigned it at Pitt's death.

In Lord Portland's Ministry of 1807, he undertook the duties of Chancellor and Under Treasurer of the Exchequer, and also Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. In October, 1809, he was First Lord of the Treasury, and Prime Minister, and so continued until his sad end.

One may well ask why did Bellingham shoot Perceval? To this day I cannot tell. In the year 1804, a Mr. John Bellingham – who had been brought up in a Counting House in London, and, afterwards, lived three years as clerk with a Russian Merchant at Archangel, whence he had returned to England – went back to Russia on Mercantile business – was there twice imprisoned – he said falsely – and treated, according to his own account, with very great indignity. He complained to the British Ambassador at Petersburg, and also to the Secretary of Legation, but did not obtain his desired redress. He returned to England in 1809, as he said, ruined in health and fortune. But the British Ambassador, Lord Gower, declared that he used all the influence he possessed (with propriety) in Bellingham's favour; but that he was legally imprisoned for debt, upon the award of four arbitrators, two of them British Merchants chosen by himself, and the other two Russians; that his confinement was far from severe; that he was allowed to walk at large, only under the inspection of a police officer; and that he had received help in money from the Secretary of Legation.

But he was "a man with a grievance," and went about to different branches of the Government, detailing the lâches of Lord Gower, and the Secretary, for their culpable neglect in not looking properly after the interests of a British Subject. He then determined to bring his case before Parliament, and asked General Gascoyne to back his petition, and the General promised to do so, provided it had the countenance of Mr. Perceval, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, which was considered necessary in all cases which involved a pecuniary grant.

He wrote to poor Perceval, for leave to bring in a Petition, but was answered that Mr. Perceval thought that his petition "was not of a nature for the Consideration of Parliament." Then he went to the Regent and the Privy Council, but to no purpose: made applications all round, but met with no good, except a reference to the Chancellor of the Exchequer: but here he had been refused help. Then he wrote a letter to the Bow Street Magistrates, stating his case – saying that he would, once more solicit his Majesty's Ministers, through them, and, failing redress from that, he continued, "I shall then feel justified in executing justice myself; in which case, I shall be ready to argue the merits of so reluctant a measure, with his Majesty's Attorney-General, wherever, and whenever I may be called upon to do so. In the hopes of averting so abhorrent, but compulsive an alternative. I have the honour to be, &c." The Magistrates communicated the contents of this packet to the Secretary of State, but it only resulted in a fresh disappointment.

He still kept on trying, and his idea of taking vengeance on some one, increased, until it not only became fixed, but he planned its carrying out. He had a pocket made in his coat of a peculiar size and shape, in order to carry a pistol; and on the fatal 11th of May, he hid himself behind one of the folding doors of the lobby of the House of Commons; and when, about a quarter past five, the ill-fated Chancellor made his appearance, Bellingham shot him through the heart. Poor Perceval only reeled a pace or two, faintly called out, that he was murdered, and then fell. The Illustration which I have reproduced is the best I know, and the likenesses of both murderer and victim are extremely good.

Perceval was at once raised, and carried into the Speaker's apartments, but he died in two or three minutes. His murderer made no attempt to escape, but stood holding the pistol with which he had committed the foul crime, and, when some one called out – "Where is the rascal that fired?" he coolly stepped forward, saying, "I am the unfortunate man," and quietly surrendered himself a prisoner. On being searched, a loaded pistol was found in his pocket – the fellow to that which he was still holding in his hand.

He was equally calm when brought before the bar of the House, acknowledging the fact, and even attempting to justify it. He was committed to Newgate, where two men were constantly with him in his cell, to prevent any attempt at self-destruction. He was brought up for trial at the Old Bailey on the 15th of May. The facts against him were concisely and clearly stated, even to that of his having pockets specially made to hold the pistols: and he conducted his own defence. He gave an account of his sufferings for the past eight years, laying the blame principally on Lord Leveson Gower, whom he regretted he had not killed in place of Mr. Perceval. "He was obliged to the Attorney-General and the Court for setting aside the plea of insanity urged by his counsel, and could assure them, whenever he should appear before the tribunal of God, he should be adjudged innocent of the wilful murder of Mr. Perceval. That he perished by his hand he admitted; but, to constitute felony, there must be malice prepense, the wilful intention, which had not been proved. In this case, he had been robbed of his property, his family ruined, and his mind tortured through the conduct of Government Agents; and he was now to answer for his life, because Mr. Perceval chose to patronize iniquity, and refuse him redress."

Of course, this style of argument availed him nothing with the jury, who, after a very brief consultation, brought him in "Guilty." Sentence of death was passed upon him, and, as there was very little sickly sentimentality in those days, as to carrying out the penalty of the law, he was duly hanged on the 18th of May: his body being given over to the surgeons for dissection. It is said that after his body was opened, his heart continued its functions for four hours; in other words, that he was living for that time.

The day after Mr. Perceval's assassination, the Prince Regent sent a Message to Parliament recommending a provision being made for Mrs. Perceval and her family, and an annuity of £2,000 was granted her, together with a sum of £30,000 to her family. These were voted unanimously, and two other votes were passed by large majorities – one to provide a monument to his memory in Westminster Abbey, the other granting to his eldest son, Spencer Perceval, who was just about to go to College, an annuity of £1,000, from the day of his father's death, and an additional £1,000 yearly, on the decease of his mother.

One would have thought that there could have been but one feeling throughout the nation, that of horror, at this dastardly murder, but one town was the base exception. When the news of his murder reached Nottingham, a numerous crowd publicly testified their joy by shouts, huzzas, drums beating, flags flying, bells ringing, and bonfires blazing. The Military being called out, and the Riot Act read, peace was restored.