Among the great men and accomplished orators who, during Pitt’s long
and arduous tenure of office, strove energetically to curb his will,
humble his pride, and exalt his celebrated rival, none was more
conspicuous for ability and eloquence than the immortal Erskine, though
it was not in a senatorial capacity that he displayed, to their full
extent, those vast powers, or achieved the oratorical triumphs which
added lustre to an ancestral name, and formed a reputation so splendid.
Thomas Erskine, unquestionably one of the most brilliant, courageous,
and irresistible advocates who ever appeared at the English, or indeed
at any, bar, was born on the 10th of January, 1750, in the ancient
and historic city of Edinburgh. He was the third son of the Earl of
Buchan, a Scottish nobleman of long and illustrious descent, but in
circumstances so reduced and different from those enjoyed by the
race for many centuries, that his yearly income was less than is now
obtained, with ease, by not a few banker’s clerks. Some small portion
of the family estate still remained, and on it an old castellated
residence, probably in as ruinous a condition as the famous Wolf’s
Crag, and, therefore, uninhabited by its proprietor. Had the Caledonian
thane been a single man, and unblessed by connubial ties, he might have
run a career similar to that of the great novelist’s proud, haughty,
and restless hero, “the last Lord of Ravenswood.” But he had prudently
married the daughter of a Lothian baronet, who speedily brought him
several children: so he passed his life in chill poverty, and died in
the odor of sanctity while at Bath, seeking consolation in the eloquent
preaching of Whitefield, which was said to make sinners tremble as if a
lion were roaring among them.
Although it is likely that this exemplary earl was a justice of the
peace, and rather more than probable that there were lawsuits in
the family, it does not appear that, previous to the chancellor’s
birth, the repose of the noble countess was disturbed or agitated by
such dreams as heralded the Spectator’s introduction into existence.
However, that patrician matron was held in esteem as a woman of pious
character and aspirations. She took pains to bring up her sons in the
way they should go, and instruct them in the rudiments of education.
She grounded them thoroughly in the Presbyterian catechism, and so
imbued their young minds with the spirit of religion that Erskine, in
after life, was in the habit of devoutly ascribing each piece of good
fortune to a special interposition of an over-ruling Providence.
At an early age he was placed at the High School of the Scottish
metropolis, then the most approved seminary north of the Tweed; and
there he remained for several years. His natural talents shone forth;
he distinguished himself sufficiently to be generally at the top of
his class; and no doubt, also, he proved his courage and prowess in
the boyish exploits undertaken in the neighborhood, and the juvenile
warfare daily earned on in the play-ground. It was well for him to be
exposed to such an ordeal, for the path that lay before him was not
gaily strewed with roses, but thickly “beset with thorns and briers:”
so also, though in a less degree, was that of his witty, cheerful, and
able brother, Harry, afterward Lord Advocate for Scotland and Dean of
Faculty.
When Erskine had reached the age of twelve, his high-born parents
removed to St. Andrew’s, with the view of adopting a style of living
more in accordance with their narrow finances than could be pursued
by people of “note and quality” even in the Scottish capital. At St.
Andrew’s he attended the grammar-school for a while, and subsequently
took advantage of some classes in the college of the old town; though
it appears that his opportunities of profiting by that ancient
institution were extremely limited. Nevertheless, his talent appeared;
he manifested a strong love of books, and he derived from those
within his reach a considerable amount of miscellaneous information,
which opened up his mind and fired his ambition. Bright dreams of
future eminence began to illumine his young heart, and, feeling the
urgent and paramount necessity of doing something for his support and
advancement in life, he expressed a decided preference for the learned
professions, and a desire to have his time and energies employed in the
pursuit of one of them.
The requisite means, however, were wanting to gratify his inclination
in this respect; and his parents were compelled to state, that the best
thing they could do to promote his interest was to have him placed
in some man-of-war as a midshipman. The prospect of donning a blue
jacket and cocked hat, and of the consequent adventures――generally so
pleasing to the juvenile imagination――was by no means so fascinating
to the clever, studious, and intellectual young “honorable” as might
have been expected; but, after some ineffectual efforts to make matters
more to his liking, he felt himself bound to endure what he regarded as
a hard fate, and was accordingly embarked about the completion of his
fourteenth year. Doubtless the usual parting-scene was enacted with all
due formality. Gil Blas is made to state that, when he left home, his
parents made him a present of their blessing, which was all that he had
ventured to expect, for the very competent reason that they had nothing
else to bestow; and, no doubt, Erskine was similarly favored. Perhaps,
also, the noble earl would gravely admonish the young sailor not to
trifle or hurt himself with his sword; his mother would give him a last
embrace; and his sisters would, with tears, give evidence of their
grief.
The next few years of Erskine’s life were passed on board ship,
where, however uncongenial the service, he gave all due attention
to discipline, and besides found time for improving his mind and
increasing his stores of knowledge. When ashore, he made a point of
seeing something of life in the various places where he happened to be;
and those who recollect his fine and beautiful passage about the Indian
chief, in his speech for Stockdale, will hardly question the use he
at this period made of his rare faculties. Having probably drawn his
ideas of naval life from the interesting descriptions in the pages of
“Roderick Random,” it is not wonderful that he found his situation more
tolerable than he had been led to anticipate. He particularly enjoyed
himself while stationed at Jamaica, relished its picturesque scenery,
and experienced the delightful novelty of dancing at dignity balls with
quadroon damsels, who chattered in broken English, exhibited grinning
rows of ivory teeth, and whose white dresses contrasted strangely with
their colored skins and their dark rolling eyes, which gave evidence
rather of their African than their European descent.
Though unfortunately, as it then seemed, engaged in pursuits for which
he had no real vocation, the aspiring Scot struggled manfully onward
in his profession. Nor did he fail in after life to make judges and
juries aware that he had profited largely by his naval experience,
when engaged in cases connected with marine affairs, as he frequently
was from his knowledge of technical phrases and other matters. Meantime
he, at length, had the comfort of being appointed acting-lieutenant in
the “Tartar,” and of making a voyage homeward in that capacity; but on
arrival in England, finding that the ship was to be paid off, and that
he would, from this circumstance, be reduced to his original rank, he
desperately resolved to tempt the seas no more.
About this period his father’s earthly existence terminated; and
Erskine, who appeared as one of the mourners, was much impressed with
the solemnity of the funeral obsequies. Having abandoned all thoughts
of a naval career, he turned his thoughts to a military life, and
had sufficient influence to obtain an ensign’s commission in the 1st
Regiment of Foot, with which he straightway went to Minorca. His
commission had cost all the money he possessed, and an application for
a small allowance had been refused by his eldest brother, the eccentric
Earl of Buchan, who afterward, on this ground, boasted that the future
chancellor owed every thing to him. Yet, under these inauspicious
circumstances, he contracted a romantic marriage with a young lady of
respectable parentage, which luckily proved more propitious than is
usual with unions formed under circumstances so forbidding.
While stationed in Minorca, though there appeared little prospect
indeed of his acquirements ever being turned to account, he devoted
himself with remarkable assiduity to the cultivation of his mind, by a
profound and earnest attention to the English classics. In this way,
by long and deep study, he became most familiar with the works of
Shakspeare and Milton; so that, with a very slight knowledge of Latin
authors, and almost none of Greek, he――a native of the north――rendered
himself a consummate master of the English tongue. His tastes were
thoroughly intellectual, and he even indulged them by officiating as
temporary chaplain to the regiment; to which he not only read prayers,
but preached two sermons from the drumhead, with no small measure of
success.
On returning to England, Erskine obtained six months’ leave of absence,
part of which he spent in London. While there he had the advantage
of meeting, conversing with, and encountering in discussion, no less
eminent a person than Dr. Johnson, attended by his faithful dog and
biographer. This was at the house of Sir Alexander Macdonald; and the
“young officer in the regimentals of the Scots Royals,” attracted much
attention by the fluency, precision, and vivacity of his discourse. At
the same date Erskine appeared to advantage as the author of a pamphlet
on the abuses of the British army, which had an extensive circulation,
and procured him some fame. Soon after this he was promoted to a
lieutenancy, and for some time longer endured the disagreeable process
of marching with the regiment from one place to another. His family
and his dissatisfaction gradually increasing, a gloomy cloud seemed
to hang over his existence; and there was ever before him the dismal
prospect of his life proving a long series of imaginings never to be
realized, and of aspirations never to be gratified.
Under such circumstances, while he was quartered in a provincial town,
a great thought was born within him. One day, to drive away care,
dispel annoyance, and perhaps to gratify a rational curiosity, he
strolled into the assize court, where the great Lord Mansfield was
presiding, with his wonted serene and impenetrable dignity. Perhaps
birds of Erskine’s feather were rarely seen in such haunts. At all
events, his regimentals quickly attracted the eye of the veteran judge,
who, struck, no doubt, by the peculiarly elegant and aristocratic
appearance of the singularly intelligent-looking officer, even
condescended to inquire who he was. On being informed that he was a
younger son of the late Earl of Buchan, and very much in the same
position in which the noble, learned, and influential Chief Justice
might have found himself, but for the good fortune which had early led
him to fatten and flourish in the pastures of the South, the latter
kindly accommodated the lieutenant of foot with a place beside him on
the bench, and courteously explained the case that was being tried.
Thus seated by a man who had raised himself, by his genius, from the
oatmeal porridge and aristocratic poverty of Scone Palace to wealth
and an illustrious position, it struck the aspiring and discontented
subaltern that here was a sphere in which his intellect might be
exercised with advantage and renown. He therefore availed himself of
his distinguished countryman’s politeness, which took the shape of an
invitation to dinner, to state the hardship of his lot, and explain his
views. So truly great a man as Lord Mansfield would hardly, at such a
moment, forget his own early trials and struggles. In any case, his
young acquaintance was rewarded with some slight encouragement, and the
sage advice to consult his friends. Erskine’s surviving parent readily
approved of the plan; and, between jest and earnest, she said he must
be Lord Chancellor. Accordingly, having formed his plans, he was
admitted as a student of law at Lincoln’s Inn, and, at the same time,
entered himself as a fellow-commoner of Trinity College, Cambridge,
where in spite of narrow means, his wit and talent soon brought him
into notice. The sale of his military commission produced him a
serviceable sum of money; and, divesting himself of scarlet uniform,
he proceeded to accomplish himself in the composition of English. An
amusing specimen of his skill in versifying is a parody of Gray’s
“Bard,” which gained him some applause. It was produced on the occasion
of his being detained from dinner at the College hall by the tardiness
of his hair-dresser, and begins with this not very complimentary
stanza:
“Ruin seize thee, scoundrel Coe!
Confusion on thy frizzing wait!
Hadst thou the only comb below,
Thou never more should’st touch my pate.
Club, nor queue, nor twisted tail,
Nor e’en thy chatt’ring, barber, shall avail,
To save thy horse-whipped back from daily fears,
From Cantab’s curse, from Cantab’s tears!”
Having taken the honorary degree of A.M. in 1778, the future
defender of Lord George Gordon was called to the bar in the same
year. When settled in London, he practiced his oratorical powers at
debating-clubs, and pursued his legal studies in the chambers of a
special pleader; yet it does not appear that his knowledge of the
law was ever very profound, notwithstanding his possessing, in some
measure, a legal intellect. His domestic arrangements were on the most
economical principle; there is even a tradition to the effect that his
honorable spouse was under the necessity of acting as washerwoman for
their family. His fare was of the humblest description; his dress was
remarkable only for its shabbiness; he frequently found it no easy
matter to provide the necessaries of life for the passing day; and he
was heard thanking God that, out of his own family, he did not know a
lord. It appears that his acquaintance with attorneys was still more
limited in extent. Being complimented on his health and spirits, he
answered sportively that he ought to look well, having nothing else to
do, as had been remarked of somebody’s trees.
But a man with the blood of a long line of earls in his veins, and with
the consciousness of already having given proof of superior endowments,
was not likely, while enduring galling poverty, to be wanting in
aspirations after fame, or to lose an opportunity of winning a name and
bettering his circumstances. Erskine felt within him both the stirrings
of ambition and the capacity to do and dare with success, if an
occasion were presented. His affairs were probably at the worst, when
accident threw Captain Baillie in his way.
That brave and gallant officer had, as Lieutenant-governor of Greenwich
Hospital, written and published a statement of abuses existing in the
establishment, reflecting with particular acerbity on Lord Sandwich,
first lord of the Admiralty. For this pamphlet Baillie was forthwith
suspended by the Board, and a prosecution commenced against him by some
of the less important individuals, whom he had assailed in pursuance
of what he regarded as the performance of his duty. While the case was
in prospect of being tried, Erskine happened to meet the redoubted
captain at a dinner-party, and, without being aware of his presence,
expatiated on the subject of the prosecution with so much warmth and
animation, that though they were not introduced on that occasion, the
ex-lieutenant-governor declared that the briefless barrister should
be one of his counsel; but as there were to be four seniors, the
latter naturally despaired of receiving any attention. However, at a
consultation, when the others were inclined to consent to a favorable
compromise, Erskine respectfully dissented, and advised them to stand
the hazard of a trial; whereupon the captain swore a round oath, and
cried, as he caught the future occupier of “the marble chair” in his
strong arms, “You are the man for me!” When the case came on, the
seniors were heard at great length on behalf of Captain Baillie;
and the last of them, Mr. Hargrave, being in some way indisposed,
was obliged to retire several times during his lengthened argument,
and thus so protracted the proceedings, that on his concluding Lord
Mansfield said that the remaining counsel should be heard next morning.
This was precisely what Erskine desired, and indeed appeared almost
providential, as it afforded him time to arrange during the night
the heads of what he was to say. Besides, he had the advantage of
addressing the court with refreshed energies and revived faculties.
When the judges took their places next morning, he rose from the back
row, and delivered a speech of such marvelous ability, that it has
since been regarded by sagacious critics as the most brilliant forensic
display ever witnessed under similar circumstances. As he left the
hall attorneys flocked around to congratulate him on his extraordinary
triumph, and from that memorable day business flowed in upon him.
Being asked how he could so boldly face a venerable judge like Lord
Mansfield――the very type and figure of justice――his feeling reply was,
that he fancied his children were tugging at his gown, and saying, “Now
is the time to get us bread!”
Erskine was next selected, on account of his naval intelligence, to
draw up the defense to be spoken by Admiral Keppel, on his trial.
This he did with much success; and the admiral, on being acquitted,
presented him with bank-notes to the amount of a thousand pounds,
which he flourished in triumph before his friends, exclaiming, with
the almost boyish and mirthful fancy, ever freely indulged in private,
“_Voilà_ the nonsuit of cow-beef!”
The skill, dexterity, and eloquence, together with the complete
devotion to the interests of his client, which he displayed in the
conduct of cases, led to an extensive and lucrative practice; and in
1781 he was retained as counsel for the silly but then enthusiastically
Protestant Lord George Gordon, whom he defended with brilliant power
and signal success. In 1783, though having then been only five years at
the bar, and delivered for a still briefer space from the horrors of
“cow-beef” and threadbare garments, it was thought advisable to confer
on him a patent of precedency. This gave him the privilege of donning a
silk gown and sitting within the bar. It was likewise deemed prudent to
have him brought into Parliament, and he was returned to the House of
Commons as member for Portsmouth, to try his skill as a debater among
the giants who then ruled the Legislature. The result was by no means
gratifying to his numerous friends and admirers, who really seem to
have entertained the unreasonable expectation that he was to trample
Pitt in the dust as easily and proudly as he had done the nameless
creatures of Lord Sandwich. In fact, his acquaintance with political
matters was limited, from the keen and earnest attention which he had
given to his professional pursuits; and his new position was so utterly
different from that to which he had been accustomed, as to render him
somewhat like a fish out of the water. In Westminster Hall, his ardor,
his enthusiasm, the sparkle of his piercing glance, the grace and
nobleness of his figure, the freedom and celerity of his movements,
the clearness and flexibility of his voice, the surpassing beauty
of his diction, the correct taste with which he conceived and the
singular felicity with which he executed most difficult flights, and
his figures of speech characterized by a boldness which unexceptional
success alone could redeem from the charge of temerity, had fascinated
juries, startled dignified sages of the law out of their propriety, and
commanded the admiration of experienced advocates. But in the House of
Commons his ardent spirit was chilled, his enthusiastic temperament
damped, and his eloquent tongue made to falter by the scornful stare,
the contemptuous indifference, and the cold sarcasm of the dread son of
Chatham.
[Illustration: ERSKINE’S FIRST SUCCESSES.]
Meantime his fame at the bar ascended rapidly. His powerful memory,
wakeful vigilance, and knowledge of those with whom he had to deal,
enabled him to conduct cases with wonderful skill. He defended the Dean
of Asaph in a speech of much merit and high courage; and in 1786 was
appointed Attorney-general to the Prince of Wales, an office of which
he was deprived for appearing, with dauntless determination, on behalf
of the notorious Thomas Paine, author of “the Rights of Man,” in spite
of the threatening frowns of royal power and the suggestive warnings of
northern craft.
Though bold and conscientious above all others in the performance of
his duty, Erskine had good reason to say to his admirers, “Gentlemen,
I am but a man.” He had, indeed, a considerable amount of vanity in
his nature, and even in his best days liked well, after the case had
been called, to keep a crowded and impatient audience waiting in court
for a few minutes till he should make his appearance with something
like stage effect. When he entered, to conduct some most important
case on which, perhaps, he believed “the last and best gift of God to
his creatures” depended, it was a little too apparent to intelligent
spectators that his new yellow gloves and carefully-dressed wig were
recognized by him as essential parts of the solemn proceedings. But if
he did too assiduously cultivate popular favor he can not be justly
accused of having shrunk from fear of court proscription, even when his
fortunes hung trembling in the balance.
The period of the state trials was that of Erskine’s greatest triumph
and highest popularity. His grave, sturdy, and sensible-looking
antagonist, on that occasion, was Sir John Scott, afterward Lord Eldon,
who had worthily risen to distinction by “living like a hermit and
working like a horse.” He was then attorney-general, and his duty, as
public prosecutor, could hardly have been very agreeable. Indeed, he
seemed at times to have been in no small danger from the excitement of
the mob, who daily bestowed upon Erskine frenzied applause. After the
acquittal of Hardy, the ringleaders insisted upon taking the horses out
of the brilliant counsel’s carriage, that they might draw him to his
house in triumph. Years after, when he was relating this circumstance
in presence of Lord Eldon, that distinguished personage managed to turn
the laugh against his old opponent by adding, with quiet humor, “Yes,
and I believe you never saw more of them.”
In 1802 Erskine visited Paris, and was presented to the Emperor
Napoleon, then First Consul, who, however, only honored him with the
single question, “_Êtes vous légiste?_” On returning home, he was
restored to his office of Attorney-general to the Prince of Wales, who
revived in his favor the dormant functions of Chancellor to the Duchy
of Cornwall.
On the death of Pitt, Lord Grenville, who had previously left the
party of his illustrious relative and former colleague, formed, in
conjunction with Fox and Addington, the ministry of “All the Talents.”
Erskine was nominated to the woolsack, and being advanced to the
peerage became Lord Chancellor; thus fulfilling his mother’s jocular
prediction. He resigned, with his political friends, in 1807, and
shortly after made his celebrated speech in the House of Lords against
the Jesuit’s Bark Bill; but henceforth he ceased to play a prominent or
influential part in public affairs. In 1815 the Prince Regent bestowed
on him the Order of the Thistle. He is reported to have regretted that,
from having been Lord Chancellor, he was prevented from pleading at
the bar, where had been won his crown of fame; and to have remarked
frequently to his friends, that the only reason he had for accepting
the great seal and a peerage at the time, was to place the maternal
prophecy beyond all hazard of breaking down. However, he consoled
himself for the loss of his position in the forum by reciprocating
compliments with his friend Dr. Parr. When the great scholar once
promised to write the ex-chancellor’s epitaph, Erskine replied, “Such
an intention on your part is almost enough to make one commit suicide.”
Dr. Johnson said that every man has a lurking wish to appear
considerable in his native place, and no doubt Erskine was actuated
by this natural feeling; yet it was somewhat late in life before he
turned his steps toward the land of his fathers. There, however,
his reception was so flattering that he conceived a strong desire to
revisit it in 1823. He insisted upon going by sea, as being an old and
experienced sailor, and was so unfavorably affected by the voyage that
he never recovered the shock.
He expired at Almondale, near Edinburgh, on the 17th of November, 1823,
and was buried, in accordance with the fashions and customs of the
country, in the family vault at Uphall, in West Lothian.