STRAWBERRY HILL, _June_ 5, 1780.
Not a syllable yet from General Clinton. There has been a battle at sea
in the West Indies, which we might have gained; know we did not, but not
why: and all this is forgotten already in a fresher event. I have said
for some time that the field is so extensive, and the occurrences so
numerous, and so much pains are taken to involve them in falsehoods and
mystery, and opinions are so divided, that all evidences will be dead
before a single part can be cleared up; but I have not time, nor you
patience, for my reflections. I must hurry to the history of the day.
The Jack of Leyden of the age, Lord George Gordon,[1] gave notice to the
House of Commons last week, that he would, on Friday, bring in the
petition of the Protestant Association; and he openly declared to his
disciples, that he would not carry it unless _a noble army of martyrs,
not fewer than forty thousand_, would accompany him. Forty thousand, led
by such a lamb, were more likely to prove butchers than victims; and so,
in good truth, they were very near being. Have you faith enough in me to
believe that the sole precaution taken was, that the Cabinet Council on
Thursday empowered the First Lord of the Treasury to give proper orders
to the civil magistrates to keep the peace,--and his Lordship forgot
it!
[Footnote 1: Lord George Gordon was a younger son of the Duke of Gordon;
and because the Parliament had passed a Bill to relieve the Roman
Catholics from some of the disabilities which seemed no longer desirable
nor just to maintain, he instigated a body calling itself the Protestant
Association to present a monster petition to the House of Commons, and
headed a procession of at least fifty thousand to march with it to the
House. The processionists behaved with great violence on their march,
insulting those members of both Houses whom they thought unfavourable to
their views; and, when the House adjourned without taking their petition
into consideration, they began to commit the most violent outrages. They
burnt Newgate; they burnt the house of the great Chief Justice, Lord
Mansfield; and for two days seemed masters of London, till the King
himself summoned a Privy Council, and issued orders for the troops to
put down the rioters. Many of the rioters were brought to trial and
executed. Lord George, being prosecuted for high treason, to which his
offence did not amount, instead of for sedition, was acquitted, to the
great indignation of the French historian, Lacretelle, that "Cet
extravagant scélérat ne paya point de sa tête un tel crime."]
Early on Friday morning the conservators of the Church of England
assembled in _St. George's_ Fields to encounter the dragon, the old
serpent, and marched in lines of six and six--about thirteen thousand
only, as they were computed--with a petition as long as the procession,
which the apostle himself presented; but, though he had given out most
Christian injunctions for peaceable behaviour, he did everything in his
power to promote a massacre. He demanded immediate repeal of toleration,
told Lord North he could have him torn to pieces, and, running every
minute to the door or windows, bawled to the populace that Lord North
would give them no redress, and that now this member, now that, was
speaking against them.
In the mean time, the Peers, going to their own Chamber, and as yet not
concerned in the petition, were assaulted; many of their glasses were
broken, and many of their persons torn out of the carriages. Lord Boston
was thrown down and almost trampled to death; and the two Secretaries of
State, the Master of the Ordnance, and Lord Willoughby were stripped of
their bags or wigs, and the three first came into the House with their
hair all dishevelled. The chariots of Sir George Savile and Charles
Turner, two leading advocates for the late toleration, though in
Opposition, were demolished; and the Duke of Richmond and Burke were
denounced to the mob as proper objects for sacrifice. Lord Mahon
laboured to pacify the tempest, and towards eight and nine, prevailed
on so many to disperse, that the Lords rose and departed in quiet; but
every avenue to the other House was besieged and blockaded, and for four
hours they kept their doors locked, though some of the warmest members
proposed to sally out, sword in hand, and cut their way. Lord North and
that House behaved with great firmness, and would not submit to give any
other satisfaction to the rioters, than to consent to take the Popish
laws into consideration on the following Tuesday; and, calling the
Justices of the Peace, empowered them to call out the whole force of the
country to quell the riot.
The magistrates soon brought the Horse and Foot Guards, and the pious
ragamuffins soon fled; so little enthusiasm fortunately had inspired
them; at least all their religion consisted in outrage and plunder; for
the Duke of Northumberland, General Grant, Mr. Mackinsy, and others, had
their pockets picked of their watches and snuff-boxes. Happily, not a
single life was lost.
This tumult, which was over between nine and ten at night, had scarce
ceased before it broke out in two other quarters. Old Haslang's[1]
Chapel was broken open and plundered; and, as he is a Prince of
Smugglers as well as Bavarian Minister, great quantities of run tea and
contraband goods were found in his house. This one cannot lament; and
still less, as the old wretch has for these forty years usurped a hired
house, and, though the proprietor for many years has offered to remit
his arrears of rent, he will neither quit the house nor pay for it.
[Footnote 1: Count Haslang was the Bavarian Minister.]
Monsieur Cordon, the Sardinian Minister, suffered still more. The mob
forced his chapel, stole two silver lamps, demolished everything else,
threw the benches into the street, set them on fire, carried the brands
into the chapel, and set fire to that; and, when the engines came, would
not suffer them to play till the Guards arrived, and saved the house and
probably all that part of the town. Poor Madame Cordon was confined by
illness. My cousin, Thomas Walpole, who lives in Lincoln's Inn Fields,
went to her rescue, and dragged her, for she could scarce stand with
terror and weakness, to his own house.
I doubt this narrative will not re-approach you and Mr. Wyndham. I have
received yours of the 20th of last month.
You will be indignant that such a mad dog as Lord George should not be
knocked on the head. Colonel Murray did tell him in the House, that, if
any lives were lost, his Lordship should join the number. Nor yet is he
so lunatic as to deserve pity. Besides being very debauched, he has more
knavery than mission. What will be decided on him, I do not know; every
man that heard him can convict him of the worst kind of sedition: but it
is dangerous to constitute a rascal a martyr. I trust we have not much
holy fury left; I am persuaded that there was far more dissoluteness
than enthusiasm in the mob: yet the episode is very disagreeable. I came
from town yesterday to avoid the birthday [June 4]. We have a report
here that the Papists last night burnt a Presbyterian meeting-house, but
I credit nothing now on the first report. It was said to be intended on
Saturday, and the Guards patrolled the streets at night; but it is very
likely that Saint George Gordon spread the insinuation himself.
My letter cannot set out before to-morrow; therefore I will postpone the
conclusion. In the mean time I must scold you very seriously for the
cameo you have sent me by Mr. Morrice. This house is full of your
presents and of my blushes. I love any one of them as an earnest of your
friendship; but I hate so many. You force upon me an air most contrary
to my disposition. I cannot thank you for your kindness; I entreated you
to send me nothing more. You leave me no alternative but to seem
interested or ungrateful. I can only check your generosity by being
brutal. If I had a grain of power, I would affront you and call your
presents bribes. I never gave you anything but a coffee-pot. If I could
buy a diamond as big as the Caligula, and a less would not be so
valuable, I would send it you. In one word, I will not accept the cameo,
unless you give me a promise under your hand that it shall be the last
present you send me. I cannot stir about this house without your gifts
staring me in the face. Do you think I have no conscience? I am sorry
Mr. Morrice is no better, and wonder at his return. What can invite him
to this country? Home never was so homely.
_6th._
It is not true that a meeting-house has been burnt. I believe a Popish
chapel in the city has been attacked: and they talk here of some
disturbance yesterday, which is probable; for, when grace, robbery, and
mischief make an alliance, they do not like to give over:--but ten miles
from the spot are a thousand from truth. My letter must go to town
before night, or would be too late for the post. If you do not hear from
me again immediately, you will be sure that this _bourrasque_ has
subsided.
_Thursday 8th._
I am exceedingly vexed. I sent this letter to Berkeley Square on
Tuesday, but by the present confusions my servant did not receive it in
time. I came myself yesterday, and found a horrible scene. Lord
Mansfield's house was just burnt down, and at night there were shocking
disorders. London and Southwark were on fire in six places; but the
regular troops quelled the sedition by daybreak, and everything now is
quiet. A camp of ten thousand men is formed in Hyde Park, and regiments
of horse and foot arrive every hour.
_Friday morn, 9th._
All has been quiet to-night. I am going to Strawberry for a little rest.
Your nephew told me last night that he sends you constant journals just
now.
_HOGARTH--COLONEL CHARTERIS--ARCHBISHOP BLACKBURNE--JERVAS--RICHARDSON'S
POETRY._