Part 7

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.

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.

LORD COLLINGWOOD.

The ancestors of this noble-hearted and patriotic Englishman were “dreaded in battle and loved in hall.” Their courage has been recorded in history, and their courtesy celebrated in song. Yet it is less than probable that any mailed warriors of the knightly race possessed these attributes in greater perfection than did this gallant and heroic admiral, who, in the nineteenth century, on that boundless empire which his countrymen claim as their heritage, made the ancient name he bore so widely and gloriously known in Europe and the world. The Collingwoods were for several centuries planted in the proud and extensive county of Northumberland. There they owned large territorial estates, held a high social position, and formed distinguished matrimonial alliances. Their prowess and valor were displayed in the perpetual conflicts which, previous to the auspicious period when King James united the crowns of the two realms upon his learned forehead, laid waste and impoverished the wild and unruly borders. When the Civil Wars occurred, being staunch and fearless cavaliers, they adhered to the cause of the first Charles, and lost much land in the gloomy and disastrous struggle for the prerogatives of that ill-fated Prince. In later days the chief of the name――being a friend and companion of the popular, munificent, and deeply-lamented Lord Derwentwater――engaged in the hapless insurrection of 1715, had his estates forfeited to the crown, and was called upon to lay his head on the block for that royal house, against whose subjects the Collingwoods of another age had ever been ready to fight to the death. From these and other causes a representative of the family, in the middle of last century, appears to have found himself in a position the reverse of convenient, and in circumstances by no means affluent. In any case he settled at Newcastle, married a lady of Westmoreland and was blessed with several children.

Cuthbert Collingwood, who inherited little beside the Christian and surnames, described by the old ballad-maker as being “so worthy to put in verse,” and the stainless courage of “that courteous knight,” taken prisoner at Redswire, was the eldest of his parents’ three sons, and born on the 26th of Sept. 1750. No doubt he sported, during childhood, on the banks of the Tyne, regarded the shipping in the port with a curious eye, and was carried on fine afternoons, like other juvenile inhabitants of Newcastle, to buy shortcake in the neighboring village of Chester-le-Street.

In due time he was sent to the Grammar School, and there trained to fear God, serve his country, and honor the king. The master of the institution at that time was the Rev. Hugh Moises, a most worthy and successful teacher of the old stamp, who never spared the rod when the application of it was likely to promote the improvement and welfare of his pupils; nor refrained from bestowing the meed of praise which they had fairly earned by meritorious conduct. By such means, in all probability, Collingwood――a pretty, gentle, and generous boy――was taught those wholesome lessons of obedience and self-respect which he afterward knew so well how to practice himself and to inculcate on others, at once with the benevolence of a philanthropist and the firmness of a despot. At this educational establishment religious exercises were regularly attended to; and, perhaps, in the sentiments there instilled into his mind may be traced the origin of those habits of practical, unpretending piety, which characterized his illustrious career. Among the youths who were there being instructed by Mr. Moises, who marched to church under his auspices on Sundays, feared his chastening birch on week-days, and who in after years acknowledged the benefit they had derived from his tuition, were the two Scotts, sons of a wealthy coalfitter in the place, and destined to arrive at the highest rewards and honors of the branches of the legal profession to which their time and talents were devoted. The younger of them, who ere long occupied so high a position, and exercised so much influence as Lord Eldon, was Collingwood’s class-fellow, and used to state, somewhat unnecessarily, that both of them were placed at the time-honored seminary because their fathers could not conveniently afford to have them educated elsewhere. The fame which they worthily attained in different spheres proves that they lay under no considerable disadvantages on that account. When Collingwood’s dispatch narrating the battle of Trafalgar arrived, the king expressed his extreme surprise that a naval officer, who had spent so much of his life at sea, should write in so admirable a style. But on being informed that his brave and patriotic subject had been a scholar of Moises, his majesty considered that fact sufficient to explain the excellence shown.

In subsequent life, when experience had sharpened his powerful faculties, it was Collingwood’s opinion that a boy intended for the sea should be early placed at a mathematical school, and carefully initiated into the science of navigation; as otherwise there is little likelihood of his achieving much progress on board a man-of-war. We are told of Lord St. Vincent, that the only instruction he ever received was from a considerate old sailing-master, whom he encountered while stationed at Jamaica; but it does not appear where Collingwood acquired his theoretic knowledge on this subject. It is probable, however, that he enjoyed the advantage of being grounded by the celebrated Hutton, who, just as Collingwood attained his tenth year, commenced a mathematical class in the town, and was, in some capacity, connected with instructing the mischievous imps under the sternly just sway of Moises. At the age of eleven Collingwood was dedicated to the profession of which he became so useful a member, and so bright an ornament.

The circumstances which have led to our great naval heroes first going to sea are sometimes peculiarly interesting, and even romantic. Take, for instance, the case of the Hoods――sons of a vicar in Somersetshire. A gallant captain was spending his time ashore in traveling about the country, and in passing through the quiet village of Butleigh, his carriage happened to break down. He looked around for an inn in which to stay while it underwent the necessary repairs, but there was no public place of accommodation to be had. The stranger, with some reason, seemed a little disconcerted; but matters were presently cleared up by the appearance of the worthy parson, who invited him to his house with hearty good will, and entertained him hospitably. Next morning the guest, before leaving, said, “Sir, you have two sons, would either of them like to go with me to sea?” They availed themselves of the frank offer,――both entered the service, and one became Lord Hood, the other Viscount Bridport. Jervis, the son of a barrister, was intended to follow his father’s steps; but the groom persuaded him that all lawyers were rogues, and the little fellow, running away from school, insisted on being a sailor. After entering the navy he experienced hardship and poverty, but he struggled upward, with manly spirit, to wealth, fame, distinctions, and an earldom. Nelson’s father was a clergyman in Norfolk, but his maternal uncle, a captain in the navy, promised to provide for one of the boys. Horatio was so slender in frame, that he was thought incapable of roughing it out at sea; yet he earnestly requested to be sent. Accordingly he was packed off alone in the coach to join the ship, but had the mortification of pacing the deck in wretchedness for a whole day before being taken notice of, while swelled in his young breast all the germs of the genius that recognized no fear, and the eccentricity――more valuable than the wisdom of others――which ultimately rendered him the dread of foes and the admiration of friends.

A relationship, similar to that which influenced the fortunes of his mighty compeer, seems to have guided Collingwood in his selection of a career. Captain Braithwaite, who afterward rose to the rank of admiral, had married the boy’s aunt. That officer then commanded the “Shannon,” and it was resolved to place the young aspirant under his care and protection. A touching and interesting glimpse of his earliest experience on board is afforded as he sat on the deck, sad at heart, and with tears in his eyes, which flowed more rapidly as he gazed through them at the shore. The first lieutenant observing the comely little sailor in so downcast a mood, and perhaps remembering his own feelings on a like occasion, was touched with compassion, and addressed him in language of sympathy and encouragement. Whereupon Collingwood felt so grateful that he led the kind-hearted officer to his box, and offered him a large piece of plum-cake, which his anxious and affectionate mother had given him at parting.