London was in commotion. On a certain afternoon in the early part of
the year 1797, vast numbers of persons of all ranks of society, wealthy
merchants, sober shopkeepers, eager barristers, country squires, men of
pleasure, dandies, and beaus, and many others of even more doubtful
position, might have been seen hurrying up through lanes and alleys
towards the chief centre of British commerce--the Bank of England, that
mighty heart, in and out of which the golden stream flows to and fro
along its numberless arteries. Numerous carriages, also, some with
coronets on their panels, and powdered footmen behind, rolled up from
Cheapside. Among their occupants were ministers of state, foreign
ambassadors, earls and barons of the realm, members of parliament,
wealthy country gentlemen, and other persons of distinction. While in
not a few were widows and spinster ladies, dowager duchesses and maids
of honour, and other dames with money in the funds. On the countenances
of the larger portion of the moving throng might be traced a word of
uncomfortable import--"Panic."
It was an eventful period. Seldom during that or the present century
have English patriots had greater cause for anxiety. Never, certainly,
from the day of the explosion of the South Sea Bubble up to that period,
had the mercantile atmosphere been more agitated. The larger portion of
the motley crowd turned on one side to the Bank of England, where the
ladies, descending from their carriages, pressed eagerly forward amidst
the people on foot, one behind the other, to reach the counters.
Another portion entered the Royal Exchange, while a considerable number
of the carriages proceeded along Cornhill.
The appearance of the surrounding edifices was, however, different from
that of the present day. The old Mansion House was there, and the new
Bank of England had been erected, but all else has been altered. The
then existing Royal Exchange was greatly inferior to the fine structure
at present to be seen between the Mansion House and the Bank. It stood
in a confined space, surrounded by tall blocks of buildings, dark and
dingy, though not altogether unpicturesque. Whatever were its defects,
it served its purpose, and would have been serving it still, probably,
had it not been burnt down.
Numerous excited groups of men now filled the greater part of the
interior area; some were bending eagerly forward, either more forcibly
to express an opinion, or to hear what was said by the speaker on the
opposite side of the circle. Others were whispering into their
neighbours' ears, with hands lifted up, listening attentively to the
remarks bestowed upon them, while others were hurrying to and fro
gathering the opinion of their acquaintances, and then quickly again
putting it forth as their own, or hastening away to act on the
information they had received.
"Terrible news! The country will be ruined to a certainty! The French
will be here within a week! Fearful disaster! The fleet has mutinied!
The army will follow their example! Ireland is in open rebellion! The
bank is drained of specie! Failures in every direction! The funds at
fifty-seven!"
Such were some of the remarks flying about, and which formed the subject
matter of the addresses delivered by the various speakers. Many persons
then collected were sober-minded citizens, merchants of good repute,
trading with the West Indian Sugar Islands, Africa, the Colonies of
North America, or the Baltic, East India directors, or others, whose
transactions compelled them to assemble, for the negotiation of their
bills on 'change.
A considerable number, however, of those who came into the city from the
West End did not stop at the Exchange, but continued their course a
short distance farther, along Cornhill, where turning on one side they
found themselves in the precincts of Change Alley. An old writer
describes that region: "The limits are easily surrounded in a minute and
a half. Step out of Jonathan's into the alley, turn your face due east,
move on a few paces to Garraway's. From thence go out at the other
door, and go on still east, into Birchin Lane, and then halting at the
Sword-blade bank, and facing the north, you will enter Cornhill, and
visit two or three petty provinces there to the west, and thus having
boxed your compass, and sailed round the stock-jobbing globe, you turn
into Jonathan's again."
In Jonathan's well-known coffee-house, and in its immediate
neighbourhood, was assembled a large number of persons, varying in rank
and appearance far more than those who were inside the Exchange. To
this point the coroneted carriages had been directing their course. The
occupants of some had got out and entered the coffee-house. Others
remained with their brokers at the door, eager to gain certain
intelligence, which was to raise or depress the market. Here too were
to be seen persons in Eastern costume, and others in English dress, both
however with the unmistakable features of the Jew. There were courtiers
and gentlemen from the fashionable parts of the metropolis, in silk
stockings and diamond-buckled shoes, with powdered wigs, frilled shirts,
and swords by their sides, or quakers in broad-brimmed hats and garments
of sombre hue, such as were worn by our puritan ancestors of the
previous century. Here too were portly citizens with gold-headed canes
and well-brushed beavers, their countenances anxious, but honest and
straightforward, though many other persons were there, some in
shabby-genteel costume, others in threadbare and almost ragged coats,
and again, many whose sharp eager eyes and pale features showed that
they had been long accustomed to the transactions of the place. The two
great parties in the State might in most cases have been distinguished
by the difference of their costume. The Tories, the supporters of the
war, determined foes of the men then in power in France, generally
retained the gay and handsome costume of their fathers, while the Whigs
and Jacobinical party affected a republican simplicity, and dressed in
straight-cut coats and low-crowned hats, which had been introduced in
France.
We shall have to return to Jonathan's by-and-bye, and will in the
meantime go back to the Royal Exchange. Among those who were making
their way towards it from the lanes which led up from the banks of the
river was a person not unworthy of notice. He was a man past the
meridian of life, of tall and commanding figure. The leather-like skin
of his colourless face, though free from spot or blemish, was slightly
wrinkled, and his somewhat massive features wore a calm and unmoved
expression, which might have surprised those who could have defined the
feelings agitating his bosom. No wonder that his mind was troubled.
Those were anxious times for men engaged even in very limited
transactions. Stephen Coppinger's were extensive and complex. There
was scarcely a pie baked in those days in which he had not a finger. He
walked at a dignified pace, with a smile on his lips, and his bright
eyes calm, though watchful. His dark-coloured suit of fine cloth with
brass buttons was carefully brushed, a small quantity of powder only
shaken on his hair, which was fastened behind in a long queue, resting
on his collar. The folds of his white neck-cloth, and the frill of fine
lace which appeared beneath his waistcoat, were scrupulously clean and
well arranged. Silk stockings with knee breeches, and shoes with steel
buttons, encased his legs and feet. In his hand he carried a thick
gold-headed walking-stick, though scarcely requiring it to support his
steps, while a plain cocked hat, and a spencer, for the weather was
cold, completed his costume. His step was firm, his head erect, as he
walked along with a dignified air, bowing to one acquaintance, nodding
to another, and returning with condescension the salutations of his
inferiors. He observed many other persons proceeding in the same
direction, several of whom he knew, the countenances of not a few
wearing that expression of anxiety which he took care his own should not
exhibit. Several of them did not notice him, as, lost in thought, with
their heads cast down, they picked their way over the uneven pavement.
Stephen Coppinger had scarcely reached his accustomed "walk" in the
Exchange, when his acquaintance, Alderman Bycroft, bustled up to him.
"Well, friend Coppinger, you look as calm as if nothing had happened!"
exclaimed the alderman; "have you not heard the news?"
"Which news?" asked the merchant in a quiet voice, without the slightest
change of countenance; "so many reports are flying about that I believe
none of them."
"You could not have heard the news, or you would not look so abominably
unconcerned," exclaimed the alderman, who was a somewhat fussy excitable
gentleman. "Why, the news is positively fearful! A mutiny has broken
out on board the channel fleet at Spithead! They have murdered Lord
Bridport and most of their officers, and threatened, if they have not
everything their own way, to carry the ships over to the French. The
enemy's fleets are mustering in great force, and may be across the
Channel, for what we can tell, at this moment. The Irish are in
rebellion, and are certain to join them and cut all our throats."
"Terrible, if true," answered Mr. Coppinger, with a smile, which he
could afford to bestow on his excitable friend; "but I think, my dear
alderman, I can correct you. The crews of the Channel fleet have
undoubtedly refused to proceed to sea unless their very reasonable
demands are agreed to, and I know for certain that they have treated the
admiral and their officers with every respect. They will, I have no
fear, therefore, when their petition is granted, return to their duty.
If the French come we will give them a warm reception. In the meantime,
however, I acknowledge we are likely to suffer by having our merchantmen
exposed to the depredations of the enemy's ships, and this is about the
worst danger I apprehend."
"You take things too calmly, my friend!" exclaimed the alderman.
"Suppose the fleet refuses to obey orders, what are we to do? There's
the question. I am of opinion that we should call out the train-bands,
the volunteers, and the militia, and man every vessel in the Thames, and
sail down and capture the mutineers."
"I suspect, my friend, that your proposed flotilla would very soon be
sent to the right-about, if not to the bottom. It would be wiser to
inquire into the complaints of the seamen, and to redress their
grievances. Their pay was small enough at first during Charles the
Second's reign, and since then all necessary articles of subsistence
have advanced fully fifty per cent, and all the men require is, that
their wages may be proportionably increased. They ask also that the
naval pensions may be augmented, as have those of Chelsea, to 13 pounds
a year. The Greenwich pensions still remain at 7 pounds. They also beg
that while in harbour they may have more liberty to go on shore, and
that when seamen are wounded they may receive their pay till cured or
discharged. Their other requests are really as moderate, and though I,
for one, would never countenance mutiny, from my heart I believe that
their demands are just."
"Can't see that," answered the alderman. "In my opinion the country is
going to rack and ruin. What are we to do without gold? Then we are to
have more loans. We have already lent Prussia, Sardinia, and the
Emperor of Austria some seven or eight millions, and are now going to
make a further loan to Portugal, and for all I know to the contrary we
shall soon be subsidising all the rest of Europe."
"If this war with France is to continue, I, for my part, shall be glad
if we have so many friends on our side," observed Mr. Coppinger, whose
great object at the moment was to tranquillise the minds of his City
friends. "We are not likely to pay money away without getting something
for it."
"Not so sure of that," replied the alderman; "John Bull is apt to throw
his cash away with his eyes shut, and that is what we have been doing
for some time past. Had Lord Malmesbury been successful in his
negotiation for peace, things might have been different, but what can be
worse with consols down to fifty-seven, a fearful run on the Bank of
England, and now a suspension of payment in specie altogether, with this
dangerous mutiny of the fleet as a climax! Then look at Ireland--half
the country in a state of rebellion; the people shrieking out for the
assistance of the French, and cutting each other's throats in the
meantime. Then these Jacobin clubs in London and throughout all our
large towns, doing their utmost to bring about a republic in England.
If they could imitate the French and cut off our king's head, they would
do it. And as to the army, I am not certain that we can put confidence
in it. Ah! my dear sir, the sun of England's glory has set; that is my
opinion. I may be wrong--I hope so--but that is my opinion."
"You take too gloomy a view of the state of affairs, alderman," said Mr.
Coppinger. "Things are very bad, I'll own, but they may improve. Lord
Duncan's late victory should give us confidence. The fate of the French
who landed in Pembrokeshire the other day, shows that even though our
enemies may set foot on our shores, they may not gain much by their
impudence. No fear about our army, that is staunch, and the navy will
soon return to its duty, and then Old England will be well able to hold
her own against all her enemies."
Stephen Coppinger was anxious to get rid of the alderman without
rudeness, and that worthy finding he could not frighten his friend, soon
bustled off to communicate his alarm to some more excitable listener.
The merchant, however, was very far from feeling the tranquillity he
exhibited. He well knew the desperate state of affairs, but at the same
time it was important that the public mind should be tranquillised. He
had also several bills to negotiate and other business to transact,
which required his own mind to be peculiarly calm and collected. Many
other persons addressed him, most of them as agitated as Alderman
Bycroft. He had to get rid of them one after the other, and having
despatched his own business, maintaining his usual composed manner, he
quitted the Exchange.
He proceeded along Cornhill to the narrow passage which led into Change
Alley, and with deliberate steps entered Jonathan's. Every room in that
once celebrated coffee-house was full. Some persons were transacting
private business in the smaller rooms, while in the larger, stood eager
groups of brokers and dealers, with their books in their hands, noting
the various transactions in which they were engaged.
The news flying about had caused the funds to fall yet lower than on the
previous day, and brokers were hurrying to and fro, receiving orders
from their various constituents, some to buy, others to sell forthwith.
Stephen Coppinger gave certain directions to his broker in a subdued
tone. It was even with greater difficulty than in the morning that he
could command his voice, then bowing to his acquaintance as he passed,
he took his way back to Idol Lane.
He preserved his calm and dignified air, during his walk to his
counting-house. Passing through the public office to his private room,
he closed the door, and throwing himself back into his arm-chair,
pressed his hands on his brow for some minutes, lost in thought. At
length turning round towards his large black writing-table, and
referring to some letters and other papers, he seized a pen which he
mechanically mended, almost in so doing cutting through his thumb nail,
and made some rapid calculations. They were not apparently
satisfactory. He rang sharply a hand-bell by his side. Scarcely had
the silvery sounds died away when the heavy door of the oak-panelled
room slowly opened, and a clerk, with a ponderous volume under his arm,
entered. He was dressed as became the managing clerk of a large
establishment, with great neatness and precision, his hair being
carefully powdered, though his side curls were somewhat smaller than
those of his employer. His complexion was clear, with a good colour on
his cheeks, which betokened sound health, while his countenance wore a
peculiarly calm expression, calculated to gain the confidence of those
with whom he had dealings. Roger Kyffin was highly esteemed by his
principal as well as by all his subordinates. His word was, in truth,
as good as Stephen Coppinger's bond. What Roger Kyffin said Stephen
Coppinger would do, was done. On the day and hour Roger Kyffin promised
that cash should be paid, it was paid without fail. Stephen Coppinger
had no partner. He scorned to throw responsibility on an unknown
company, while, with only one exception, to no other breast than his own
would he confide the secrets of his transactions. That exception was
the breast of Roger Kyffin. Roger Kyffin placed the open folio before
his principal, and produced a paper with the remarks he had made
respecting certain entries.
"Bad!" observed Stephen Coppinger, as he ran his eye over the book and
paper; "but see, these letters bring worse news. The `Belmont Castle'
has been taken by the enemy. The `Tiger' has foundered during a
hurricane in the West Indies. Jecks Tarbett and Simmons have failed;
their debt is a large one. Hunter and Dove's affairs are in an
unsatisfactory condition. I don't like Joseph Hudson's proceedings in
Change Alley; he yesterday begged that I would renew his bill. In
truth, Roger Kyffin, unless matters improve..." A groan escaped from
Stephen Coppinger's bosom.
"The amount you require must be raised," observed Roger Kyffin, taking
half a turn across the room. "Leave that to me. You have so often
aided friends in need, that I anticipate no difficulty in obtaining
help."
"It will be from no want of exertion on your part if you fail," said
Stephen Coppinger, brightening up slightly.
"Keep up your spirits, sir," said Roger Kyffin. "The credit of your
firm will not suffer, depend on that. I will now set out and see what
can be done. I hope to bring satisfactory intelligence before evening."
Saying this, Roger Kyffin left the room, carefully closing the door
behind him. While putting on his spencer and hat, he intimated to his
principal subordinate, Mr. Silas Sleech, that he should probably be
absent for some hours. Mr. Sleech glanced after him with a pair of
meaningless eyes, set in an immovable countenance, and saying, "Oh, very
well," went on with his work.
More respecting Mr. Silas Sleech and his doings may possibly be
mentioned.