CHESTER MARKET.—THE TOWN COMMON.—RACE-COURSE.—THE YEOMANRY CAVALRY,
AND THE MILITIA OF ENGLAND.—PUBLIC WASH-HOUSE.—“MR. CHAIRMAN.”
The day after we came to Chester was market-day, and the streets were
busy at an early hour with people coming in from the country to sell
produce or purchase the supplies for their families for the coming
week. The quantity of butter exposed for sale was very large, and
the quality excellent. The fish-market also was finely supplied. The
dealing in both these articles was mostly done by women.[12]
[12] We noted the following as the common prices:—
Butchers’ meat, 10 to 14 cents per lb.
Best fresh butter in balls of 1½ lbs., 35 cents.
Salmon, fresh from the Dee, 35 cents per lb.
Turbot, 35 cents per lb.
Soles and other fish, 16 cents per lb.
[Sidenote: _MILITIA SYSTEM OF ENGLAND._]
After walking through the market we went to the Roodee, and there saw
the yeomanry reviewed. They wore a snug blue uniform, were armed with
sabres, carbines, and pistols, and were rather better mounted and
drilled than any of our mounted militia that I have seen. The active
commander seemed to be a regular martinet. If the lines got much out of
dress while on the trot, he would dash up, shaking his fist, and loudly
cursing the squadron at fault. I noticed, also, that when pleased he
sometimes addressed them in the ranks as “gentlemen.” He was probably
some old army officer, engaged to drill them.
A young man in the dress of an officer, but dismounted, said, in answer
to our inquiries, that their number was 800, in five companies. Most
of them were farmers, every farmer of a certain age in the county (as
we understood him) being obliged to serve three years, but allowed to
send a substitute if he chooses, and sometimes is represented by his
servant. They are out but once a year for training, and then for eight
days, and while engaged receive 75 cents a day. They can not be ordered
out of the country, and are never called into any active service,
except to quell riots.
I frequently asked afterwards for more information about the yeomanry,
but never of a person that seemed to know much about them. A man in the
ranks of the Denbighshire yeomanry told us the service was optional.
In some counties there is no such body, and the organization, laws,
and customs of it seem to vary in the different regiments. There is
a regular foot-militia organization throughout England (the “train
bands”), but none of them, I believe, have been paraded for many years.
According to a parliamentary return of 1838, there were then of the
mounted yeomanry, 251 troops and 13,594 privates; the annual expense of
maintaining them was $525,000. The enrolled militia of England in 1838
numbered 200,000 men. The officers of these forces, when in service,
_rank_ with those of the army of the same grade. A part of the uniform
and mountings of the yeomanry are paid for by the government, and some
small daily compensation is allowed the privates when in service. A
drill-sergeant and a trumpeter is also permanently attached to each
troop, with a salary from the state.
NAPIER mentions that the greater part of the 16,000 British troops
who gained the battle of Talavera were men drafted from the militia at
home, and that they had but very recently joined the army in Spain.
* * * * *
Coming up from the Roodee, we visited the castle. It is of no
importance in a military way, except as a depôt. There are 30,000
stand of arms, and a large quantity of gunpowder stored in it. It is
garrisoned by an Irish regiment at present, which, as well as the
yeomanry, has a very good band of music, by which the town benefits.
[Sidenote: _PUBLIC WASHHOUSE.—MODERATE DRINKER._]
We afterwards visited the public baths and wash-house. In its basement
there are twenty square tubs, each with hot and cold water cocks,
wash-board, and pounder, a drying-closet heated by steam to 212° F.,
&c. In the first story are the usual private baths, and a swimming
tank or public bath, having a constant influx of fresh water by a jet
from below, and an overflow. It is 45 by 36 feet, 2½ feet deep at one
end, 6 at the other, contains 36,000 gallons, and is furnished with
swings, diving-stage, life-buoys, &c. It was built by a committee of
the citizens, and bought by the town very soon after it went into
operation. The whole cost was $10,000, most of which was raised by a
stock subscription. The water is supplied from the canal, and is all
filtered—the cost of the filtering machine being $200. The principal
items of current expenses are fuel and salaries. The cost of coal (very
low here) is $5 a week. There are four persons constantly employed
in the establishment, viz., superintendent and wife, who are paid
$10 a week, and receive something besides as perquisites (supplying
bathing-dresses, for instance, at a small charge); the bath-attendant,
and the fireman, who each have $7.50 a week. Total salaries $25 a week.
The charges for the use of the clothes-washing conveniences is about
one cent an hour. For the baths it varies from two to twenty-five
cents, select hours being appointed for those who choose, by paying a
larger sum, to avoid a crowd. There are also commutations by the year
at lower rates: boys, for instance, have a yearly ticket for a little
over a dollar. During the first year it has something more than paid
expenses. The number of bathers the last week (in May) was over one
thousand. I mention these statistics, as this establishment is rather
smaller than most of the kind, and they may serve the projectors of a
similar one in some of our smaller cities.
* * * * *
We had had at breakfast the company of a little, fat dignified person,
whose talk much amused us by its likeness to that of some of Dickens’
characters. On returning to the inn at noon, we found sitting with
him a cadaverous-faced man, with long hair, and very seedy clothes,
who seemed from his expressions to be an artist. Beer had just been
brought into them as we entered, but the painter after taking a long
draught, mildly suggested that “something stronger might facilitate
business.” The fussy man replied that he never took any thing but malt
liquors before dinner. The artist said that he required something
more. “I haven’t had any thing but beer this morning, except a couple
of glasses of brandy, and a little go o’rum with a dab of butter and
sugar in it.” Here he looked at me with a smile and a nod, that invited
my good fellowship, and I ventured to ask how much beer he might have
had besides that. “Not more than half a dozen glasses, sir.” “Really,
I should have supposed that would be drink enough for half a day.”
“Not for a man like me; I have drank thirty-six glasses—half pints—of
strong Welsh ale in a day, and all the better of it.” The stout man
said he never drank over a dozen, or at the highest, fifteen, in a
day, and never, except in peculiar circumstances, took spirits before
dinner; after dinner he would go as far as any body. He often had to
preside at public dinners, and though of course, he then, for the sake
of example, had to drink more than any one else, he always kept on
his seat as long as there was any one to drink with him, “as you very
well know, sir,” he added, appealing to the artist. “Undoubtedly, Mr.
Chairman,” the latter replied, “_un_doubtedly, sir.”