The Willey Squire recognises the Duties of his Position, and becomes Member for Wenlock—Addison’s View of Whig Jockeys and Tory Fox-hunters—State of Parties—Pitt in Power—“Fiddle-Faddle”—Local Improvements—The Squire Mayor of Wenlock—The Mace now carried before the Chief Magistrate.
There is an old English maxim that “too much of anything is good for nothing;” the obvious meaning being that a man should not addict himself over much to any one pursuit; and it is only justice to the Willey Squire that it should be fully understood that whilst passionately fond of the pleasures of the chase, he was not unmindful of the duties of his position. Willey was the centre of the sporting country we have described; but it was also contiguous to a district remarkable for its manufacturing activity—for its iron works, its pot works, and its brick works, the proprietors of which, no less than the agricultural portion of the population, felt that they had an interest in questions of legislation. Mr. Forester considered that whatever concerned his neighbourhood and his country concerned him, and his influence and popularity in the borough led to his taking upon himself the duty of representing it in Parliament. There was about the temper of the times something more suited to the temperament of a country gentleman than at present, and a member of Parliament was less bound to his constituents. His duties as a representative sat much more lightly, whilst the pugnacious elements of the nation generally were such that when Mr. Forester entered upon public life there was nearly as much excitement in the House of Commons—and not unlike in kind—as was to be found in the cockpit or the hunting-field.
As long as Mr. Forester could remember, parties had been as sharply defined as at present, and men were as industriously taught to believe that whatever ranged itself under one form of faith was praiseworthy, whilst everything on the other side was to be condemned. Addison, in his usually happy style, had already described this state of things in the Spectator, where he says:—
“This humour fills the country with several periodical meetings of Whig jockeys and Tory fox-hunters; not to mention the innumerable curses, frowns, and whispers it produces at a quarter sessions. . . . In all our journey from London to this house we did not so much as bait at a Whig inn; or if by chance the coachman stopped at a wrong place, one of Sir Roger’s servants would ride up to his master full speed, and whisper to him that the master of the house was against such an one in the last election. This often betrayed us into hard beds and bad cheer, for we were not so inquisitive about the inn as the innkeeper; and, provided our landlord’s principles were sound, did not take any notice of the staleness of the provisions.”
So that Whig and Tory had even then long been names representing those principles by which the Constitution was balanced, names representing those popular and monarchical ingredients which it was supposed assured liberty and order, progress and stability. But about the commencement of Mr. Forester’s parliamentary career parties had been in a great measure broken up into sections, if not into factions—into Pelhamites, Cobhamites, Foxites, Pittites, and Wilkites—the questions uppermost being place, power, and distinction, ministry and opposition—the Ins and the Outs. The Ins, when Whigs, pretty much as now, adopted Tory principles, and Tories in opposition appealed to popular favour for support; indeed from the fall of Walpole to the American war, as now, there were few statesmen who were not by turns the colleagues and the adversaries, the friends and the foes of their contemporaries. The general pulse, it is true, beat more feverishly, and men went to Parliament or into battle as readily as to the hunting-field—for the excitement of the thing. To epitomise, mighty armies, such as Europe had not seen since the days of Marlborough, were moving in every direction. Four hundred and fifty-two thousand men were gathering to crush the Prince of a German state, with one hundred and fifty thousand men in the field to encounter them. The English and Hanoverian army, under the Duke of Cumberland, was relied upon to prevent the French attacking Prussia, with whom we had formed an alliance. England felt an intense interest in the struggle, and bets were made as to the result. Mr. Forester was returned to the new Parliament, which met in December, 1757, in time, we believe, to vote for the subsidy of £670,000 asked for by the king for his “good brother and ally,” the King of Prussia. A minister like Pitt, who was then inspiring the people with his spirit, and raising the martial ardour of the nation to a pitch it had never known before, who drew such pictures of England’s power and pluck as to cause the French envoy to jump out of the window, was a man after the Squire’s own heart, and he gave him his hearty “aye,” to subsidy after subsidy. As a contemporary satirist wrote:—
“No more they make a fiddle-faddle
About a Hessian horse or saddle.
No more of continental measures;
No more of wasting British treasures.
Ten millions, and a vote of credit.
’Tis right. He can’t be wrong who did it.”
Mr. Forester gave way to Cecil Forester, a few months prior to the marriage of the King to the Princess Charlotte; but was returned again, in 1768, with Sir Henry Bridgeman, and sat till 1774, during what has been called the “Unreported Parliament.” He was returned in October of the same year with the same gentleman. He was also returned to the new Parliament in 1780, succeeding Mr. Whitmore, who, having been returned for Wenlock and Bridgnorth, elected to sit for the latter; and he sat till 1784. Sir H. Bridgeman and John Simpson, Esq., were then returned, and sat till the following year; when Mr. Simpson accepted the Chiltern Hundreds, and Mr. Forester, being again solicited to represent the interests of the borough, was returned, and continued to sit until the sixteenth Parliament of Great Britain, having nearly completed its full term of seven years, was dissolved, soon after its prorogation in June, 1790.
It is not our intention to comment upon the votes given by the Squire in his place in Parliament during the thirty years he sat in the House; suffice it to say, that we believe he gave an honest support to measures which came before the country, and that he was neither bought nor bribed, as many members of that period were. He was active in getting the sanction of Parliament for local improvements, for the construction of a towing-path along the Severn, and for the present handsome iron bridge—the first of its kind—over it, to connect the districts of Broseley and Madeley. On retiring from the office of chief magistrate of the borough, which he filled for some years, he presented to the corporation the handsome mace now in use, which bears the following inscription:—
“The gift of George Forester of Willey, Esq., to the Bailiff, Burgesses, and Commonalty of the Borough of Wenlock, as a token of his high esteem and regard for the attachment and respect they manifested towards him during the many years he represented the borough in Parliament, and served the office of Chief Magistrate and Justice thereof.”
The Squire and the Wenlock Volunteers—Community of Feeling—Threats of Invasion—“We’ll follow the Squire to Hell if necessary”—The Squire’s Speech—His Birthday—His Letter to the Shrewsbury Chronicle—Second Corps—Boney and Beacons—The Squire in a Rage—The Duke of York and Prince of Orange came down.
“Not once or twice, in our rough island story,
The path of duty was the way to glory.”
We fancy there was a greater community of feeling in Squire Forester’s day than now, and that whether indulging in sport or in doing earnest work, men acted more together. Differences of wealth caused less differences of caste, of speech, and of habit; men of different classes saw more of each other and were more together; consequently there was more cohesion of the particles of which society is composed, and, if the term be admissible, the several grades were more interpenetrated by agencies which served to make them one. Gentlemen were content with the good old English sports and pastimes of the period, and these caused them to live on their own estates, surrounded by and in the presence of those whom modern refinements serve to separate; and their dependants therefore were more alive to those reciprocal, neighbourly, and social duties out of which patriotism springs. They might not have been better or wiser, but they appear to have approached nearer to that state of society when every citizen considered himself to be so closely identified with the nation as to feel bound to bear arms against an invading enemy, and, as far as possible, to avert a danger. Never was the rivalry of England and France more vehement. Emboldened by successes, the French began to think themselves all but invincible, and burned to meet in mortal combat their ancient enemies, whilst our countrymen, equally defiant, and with recollections of former glory, sought no less an opportunity of measuring their strength with the veteran armies of their rivals. The embers of former passions yet lay smouldering when the French Minister of Marine talked of making a descent on England, and of destroying the Government; a threat calculated to influence the feelings of old sportsmen like Squire Forester, who nourished a love of country, whose souls throbbed with the same national feeling, and who were equally ready to respond to a call to maintain the sacredness of their homes, or to risk their lives in their defence. Oneyers and Moneyers—men “whose words upon ’change would go much further than their blows in battle,” as Falstaff says, came forward, if for nothing else, as examples to others. On both banks of the Severn men looked upon the Squire as a sort of local centre, and as the head of a district, as a leader whom they would follow—as one old tradesman said—to hell, if necessary. A general meeting was called at the Guildhall, Wenlock, and a still more enthusiastic gathering took place at Willey. Mr. Forester never did things by halves, and what he did he did at once. He was not much at speech-making, but he had that ready wit and happy knack of going to the point and hitting the nail on the head in good round Saxon, that told amazingly with his old foxhunting friends.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “you know very well that I have retired from the representation of the borough. I did so in the belief that I had discharged, as long as need be, those public duties I owe to my neighbours; and in the hope that I should be permitted henceforth to enjoy the pleasures of retirement. I parted with my hounds, and gave up hunting; but here I am, continually on horseback, hunting up men all round the Wrekin! The movement is general, and differences of feeling are subsiding into one for the defence of the nation. Whigs and Tories stand together in the ranks; and as I told the Lord-Lieutenant the other day, we must have not less than four or five thousand men in uniform, equipped, every Jack-rag of ’em, without a farthing cost to the country. (Applause.) There are some dastardly devils who run with the hare, but hang with the hounds, damn ’em (laughter); whose patriotism, by G—d, hangs by such a small strand that I believe the first success of the enemies of the country would sever it. They are a lot of damnation Jacobins, all of ’em, whining black-hearted devils, with distorted intellects, who profess to perceive no danger. And, by G—d, the more plain it is, the less they see it. It is, as I say, put an owl into daylight, stick a candle on each side of him, and the more light the poor devil has the less he sees.” (Cries of “Bravo, hurrah for the Squire.”) In conclusion he called upon the lawyer, the ironmaster, the pot maker, the artisan, and the labourer to drill, and prepare for defending their hearths and homes; they had property to defend, shops that might be plundered, houses that might be burned, or children to save from being brained, and wives or daughters to protect from treatment which sometimes prevailed in time of war.
As a result of his exertions, a strong and efficient company was formed, called “The Wenlock Loyal Volunteers.” The Squire was major, and he spared neither money nor trouble in rendering it efficient. He always gave the members a dinner on the 4th of June, the birthday of George III., who had won his admiration and devotion by his boldness as a fox-hunter, no less than by his daring proposal, during the riots of 1780, to ride at the head of his guards into the midst of the fires of the capital. On New Year’s Day, that being the birthday of Major Forester, the officers and men invariably dined together in honour of their commander. The corps were disbanded, we believe, in 1802, for we find in a cutting from a Shrewsbury paper of the 12th of January, 1803, that about that time a subscription was entered into for the purchase of a handsome punch-bowl. The newspaper states that
“On New Year’s Day, 1803, the members of the late corps of Wenlock Loyal Volunteers, commanded by Major Forester, dined at the Raven Inn, Much Wenlock, in honour of their much-respected major’s birthday, when the evening was spent with that cheerful hilarity and orderly conduct which always characterised this respectable corps, when embodied for the service of their king and country. In the morning of the day the officers, deputed by the whole corps, waited on the Major, at Willey, and presented him, in an appropriate speech, with a most elegant bowl, of one hundred guineas value, engraved with his arms, and the following inscription, which the Major was pleased to accept, and returned a suitable answer:—‘To George Forester, of Willey, Esq., Major Commandant of the Wenlock Loyal Volunteers, for his sedulous attention and unbounded liberality to his corps, raised and disciplined under his command without any expense to Government, and rendered essentially serviceable during times of unprecedented difficulty and danger; this humble token of their gratitude and esteem is most respectfully presented to him by his truly faithful and very obedient servants,
“‘The Wenlock Volunteers.
“‘Major Forester.’”
The following reply appeared in the same paper the succeeding week:—
“Major Forester, seeing an account in the Shrewsbury papers relative to the business which occurred at Willey upon New Year’s Day last, between him and his late corps of Wenlock Volunteers, presumes to trouble the public eye with his answer thereto, thinking it an unbounded duty of gratitude and respect owing to his late corps, to return them (as their late commander) his most explicit public thanks, as well as his most grateful and most sincere acknowledgments, for the high honour lately conferred upon him, by their kind present of a silver bowl, value one hundred guineas. Major Forester’s unwearied attention, as well as his liberality to his late corps, were ever looked upon by him as a part of his duty, in order to make some compensation to a body of distinguished respectable yeomanry, who had so much the interest and welfare of him and their country at heart, that he plainly perceived himself, and so must every other intelligent spectator on the ground at the time of exercise, that they only waited impatiently for the word to put the order into execution directly; but with such regularity as their commander required and ever had cheerfully granted to him. A return of mutual regard between the major and his late corps was all he wished for, and he is now more fully convinced, by this public mark of favour, of their real esteem and steady friendship. He therefore hopes they will (to a man) give him credit when he not only assures them of his future constant sincerity and unabated affection, but further take his word when he likewise promises them that his gratitude and faithful remembrance of the Wenlock Loyal Volunteers shall never cease but with the last period of his worldly existence.
“Willey, 12th Jan., 1803.”
Soon after the first corps of volunteers was disbanded, the Squire was entertaining his guests with the toast—
“God save the king, and bless the land
In plenty, song, and peace;
And grant henceforth that foul debates
’Twixt noblemen may cease—”
when he received a letter from London, stating that at an audience given to Cornwallis, the First Consul was very gracious; that he inquired after the health of the king, and “spoke of the British nation in terms of great respect, intimating that as long as they remained friends there would be no interruption to the peace of Europe.”
One of the guests added—
“And that I think’s a reason fair to drink and fill again.”
It was clear to all, however, who looked beneath the surface, that the peace was a hollow truce, and that good grounds existed for timidity, if not for fear, respecting a descent upon our shores:
“Sometimes the vulgar see and judge aright.”
Month by month, week by week, clouds were gathering upon a sky which the Peace of Amiens failed to clear.
The First Consul declared against English commerce, and preparations on a gigantic scale were being made by the construction of vessels on the opposite shores of the Channel for invasion.
The public spirit in France was invoked; the spirit of this country was also aroused, and vigorous efforts were made by Parliament and the people to maintain the inviolability of our shores. Newspaper denunciations excited the ire of the First Consul, who demanded of the English Government that it should restrict their power. A recriminatory war of words, of loud and fierce defiances, influenced the temper of the people on each side of the Channel, and it again became evident that differences existed which could only be settled by the sword. In a conversation with Lord Whitworth, Napoleon was reported to have said:—“A descent upon your coasts is the only means of offence I possess; and that I am determined to attempt, and to put myself at its head. But can you suppose that, after having gained the height on which I stand, I would risk my life and reputation in so hazardous an undertaking, unless compelled to it by absolute necessity. I know that the probability is that I myself, and the greatest part of the expedition, will go to the bottom. There are a hundred chances to one against me; but I am determined to make the attempt; and such is the disposition of the troops that army after army will be found ready to engage in the enterprise.” This conversation took place on the 21st of February, 1803; and such were the energetic measures taken by the English Government and people, that on the 25th of March, independent of the militia, 80,000 strong, which were called out at that date, and the regular army of 130,000 already voted, the House of Commons, on June 28th, agreed to the very unusual step of raising 50,000 men additional, by drafting, in the proportion of 34,000 for England, 10,000 for Ireland, and 6,000 for Scotland, which it was calculated would raise the regular troops in Great Britain to 112,000 men, besides a large surplus force for offensive operations. In addition to this a bill was brought in shortly afterwards to enable the king to call out the levy en masse to repel the invasion of the enemy, and empowering the lord-lieutenants of the several counties to enrol all the men in the kingdom, between seventeen and fifty-five years of age, to be divided into regiments according to their several ages and professions: those persons to be exempt who were members of any volunteer corps approved of by his Majesty. Such was the state of public feeling generally that the king was enabled to review, in Hyde Park, sixty battalions of volunteers, 127,000 men, besides cavalry, all equipped at their own expense. The population of the country at the time was but a little over ten millions, about a third of what it is at present; yet such was the zeal and enthusiasm that in a few weeks 300,000 men were enrolled, armed, and disciplined, in the different parts of the kingdom.
The movement embraced all classes and professions. It was successful in providing a powerful reserve of trained men to strengthen the ranks and to supply the vacancies of the regular army, thus contributing in a remarkable manner to produce a patriotic ardour and feeling among the people, and laying the foundation of that spirit which enabled Great Britain at length to appear as principal in the contest, and to beat down the power of France, even where hitherto she had obtained unexampled success.
Thus, after the first Wenlock Loyal Volunteers were disbanded, Squire Forester found but little respite; he and the Willey fox-hunters again felt it their duty to come forward and enroll themselves in the Second Wenlock Royal Volunteers.
“Design whate’er we will,
There is a fate which overrules us still.”
No man was better fitted to undertake the task; no one knew better how
“By winning words to conquer willing hearts,
And make persuasion do the work of fear.”
And, mainly through his exertions, an able corps was formed, consisting of a company and a half at Much Wenlock, a company and a half at Broseley, and half a company at Little Wenlock; altogether forming a battalion of 280 men. For the county altogether there were raised 940 cavalry, 5,022 infantry; rank and file, 5,852. Mr. Harries, of Benthall; Mr. Turner, of Caughley; Mr. Pritchard and Mr. Onions, of Broseley; Messrs. W. and R. Anstice, of Madeley Wood and Coalport; Mr. Collins, Mr. Jeffries, and Mr. Hinton, of Wenlock; and others, were among the officers and leading members. The uniform was handsome, the coat being scarlet, turned up with yellow, the trousers and waistcoat white, and the hat a cube, with white and red feathers for the grenadiers, and green ones for the light company. The old hall once more resounded with martial music, the clang of arms, and patriotic songs; drums and fifes, clarionets and bugles, were piled up with guns and accoutrements in the form of trophies, above the massive chimney-piece, putting the deer-horns, the foxes’ heads, and the old cabinets of oak—black as ebony—out of countenance by their gaudy colouring. People became as familiar with the music of military bands as with the sound of church bells; both were heard together on Sundays, the days generally selected for drill, for heavy taxes were laid on, and people had to work hard to pay them, which they did willingly. The Squire had the women on his side, and he worked upon the men through the women. There was open house at Willey, and no baron of olden time dealt out hospitality more willingly or more liberally. The Squire was here, there, and everywhere, visiting neighbouring squires, giving or receiving information, stirring up the gentry, and frightening country people out of their wits. Boney became more terrible than bogy, both to children and grown-up persons; and the more vague the notion of invasion to Shropshire inlanders, the more horrible the evils to be dreaded. The clergy preached about Bonaparte out of the Revelations; conjurers and “wise-men,” greater authorities even then than the clergy, saw a connection between Bonaparte and the strange lights which every one had seen in the heavens! The popular notion was that “Boney” was an undefined, horrible monster, who had a sheep dressed every morning for breakfast, who required an ox for his dinner, and had six little English children cooked—when he could get them—for supper! At the name of “Boney” naughty children were frightened, and a false alarm of his coming and landing often made grown-up men turn pale.
“This way and that the anxious mind is torn.”
The impulse was in proportion to the alarm; the determination raised was spirited and praiseworthy. Stout hearts constituted an impromptu force, daily advancing in organization, with arms and accoutrements, ready to march with knapsacks to any point where numbers might be required. Once or twice, when a company received orders to march, as to Bridgnorth, for instance, an alarm was created among wives, daughters, and sweethearts, that they were about to join the battalion for active service, and stories are told of leave-takings and weepings on such occasions. Beacons were erected, and bonfires prepared on the highest points of the country round, as being the quickest means of transmitting news of the approach of an enemy. Of these watch-fire signals, Macaulay says:—
“On and on, without a horse untired, they hounded still
All night from tower to tower, they sprang from hill to hill,
Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o’er Derwent’s rocky dales,—
Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales,—
Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern’s lonely height,—
Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin’s crest of light—
Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Elsig’s stately fane,
And tower and hamlet rose in arms o’er all the boundless plain.”
Within a mile of Willey Hall a tenant of Squire Forester, and, as we have seen, an occasional guest—John Wilkinson, “the great ironmaster”—was urging his men day and night to push the manufacture of shot, shell, howitzers, and guns, which Mr. Forester believed were for the government of the country, but many of which were designed for its enemies. Night and day heavy hammers were thundering, day and night the “great blast” was blowing. He was well known to the French government and French engineers, having erected the first steam engine there in 1785, for which he was highly complimented by the Duke d’Angouleme, M. Bertrand, and others, and treated to a grand banquet, given to him on the 14th of January, 1786, at the Hôtel de Ville. Arthur Young, in his travels in France, tells us that until this well-known English manufacturer arrived the French knew nothing of the art of casting cannon from the solid, and then boring them. When Wilkinson returned to England, he continued to send guns after war had been declared. This clandestine proceeding came to the knowledge of Squire Forester, who swore, and roared like a caged lion. Here was the Squire, who boasted of his loyalty to good King George, having the minerals of his estate worked up into guns for those wretched French, whom he detested. He declared he would hunt Wilkinson out of the country; but the latter took care to keep out of his way.
The exposure ended in a seizure being made. But Wilkinson, a money-getting, unprincipled fellow, finding he could not send guns openly, sent best gun-iron in rude blocks, with a pretence that they were for ballast for shipping, but which, like some of his water-pipes, were used for making guns. His warehouse was at Willey Wharf, on the Severn, by which they were sent, when there was sufficient water, in barges, which took them out into the British Channel, and round the coast to French cruisers; and it was at this wharf he built his first famous iron barge. The proprietors of the Calcutts furnaces, at which young Cochrane, afterwards Earl Dundonald—one of the last of our old “Sea Lions”—spent some time, when a boy, with his father, Lord Dundonald, [171] were also casting and boring guns; but, in consequence of refusing to fee Government servants at Woolwich, the manufacturers had a number of them thrown upon their hands, which they sold to a firm at Rotherham, and which found their way to India, where they were recognised by old workmen in the army, who captured them during the Sikh war. At the same time cannon which burst, and did almost as much damage to the English as to their enemies, were palmed off upon the nation.
Mr. Forester wrote to the Duke of York, who came down, accompanied by the Prince of Orange, to examine the guns for himself; and a number of 18 and 32-pounders were fired in honour of the event. Others were subjected to various tests, to the entire satisfaction of the visitors.
At this period the Willey country presented a spectacle altogether unparalleled in Mr. Forester’s experience; his entire sympathy and that of his fox-hunting friends was enlisted in the warlike movements everywhere going forward, for the standards of the Wenlock and Morfe Volunteers now drew around them men of all classes. Farmers allowed their ploughs to stand still in the furrows, that the peasant might hurry with the artisan, musket on shoulder, to his rallying point in the fields near Wenlock, Broseley, or Bridgnorth. Whigs and Tories stood beside each other in the Volunteer ranks, heart-burnings and divisions as to principles and policy were for the time forgotten, and the Squire, although now unable to take the same active part he formerly did, contributed materially by his presence and advice to the zeal and alacrity which distinguished his neighbours.
The Squire among his Neighbours—Roger de Coverley—Anecdotes—Gentlemen nearest the Fire in the Lower Regions—Food Riots—The Squire quells the Mob—His Virtues and his Failings—Influences of the Times—His Career draws to a Close—His wish for Old Friends and Servants to follow him to the Grave—That he may be buried in the Dusk of Evening—His Favourite Horse to be shot—His Estates to go to his Cousin, Cecil Weld, the First Lord Forester.
Like Addison’s Sir Roger de Coverley, the Willey Squire lived a father among his tenants, a friend among his neighbours, and a good master amongst his servants, who seldom changed. He feasted the rich, and did not forget the poor, but allowed them considerable privileges on the estate; and there are a few old people—it is true there are but few—who remember interviews they had with the Squire when going to gather bilberries in the park, or when sent on some errand to the Hall. An old man, who brightened up at the mention of the Squire’s name, said, “Remember him, I think I do; he intended that I should do so. I was sent by my mother to the Hall for barm, when, seeing an old man in the yard, and little thinking it was the Squire, I said, ‘Sirrah, is there going to be any stir here to-day?’ ‘Aye, lad,’ says he, ‘come in, and see;’ and danged if he didn’t get the horse-whip and stir me round the kitchen, where he pretended to flog me, laughing the while ready to split his sides. He gave me a rare blow out though, and my mother found half-a-crown at the bottom of the jug when she poured out the barm.” “Did you ever hear of his being worsted by the sweep?” said another. “He was generally a match for most, but the sweep was too much for him. The Squire had been out, and, being caught in a storm, he called at a public-house to shelter. Seeing that it was Mr. Forester, the customers made way for him to sit next the fire, and whilst he was drying himself a sweep came to the door, and looked in; but, seeing the Squire, he was making off again. ‘Hollo,’ said Mr. Forester, ‘what news from the lower region?’ ‘Oh,’ replied the sweep, ‘things are going on there, Squire, much as they are here—the gentlemen are nearest the fire!’” A third of our informants remarked: “He was one of the old sort, but a right ’un. Why, when there was a bad harvest, and no work for men, after one of them war times, and the colliers were rioting and going to break open the shops, to tear down the flour mill, and do other damage, the old Squire was the only man that could stop them—he had such influence with the people. The poor never wanted a friend whilst old George Forester lived. There were plenty of broken victuals to be had for the fetching, a tankard of right good ale, with bread and cheese, or cold mutton, for all comers.”
The years 1774–1782 were periods of local gloom and distress, when haggard hunger and ignorant force banded together to trample down the safeguards of civil rights, and armed ruffians took the initiative in violent scrambles for food. The cavalry were called out, and fierce battles were fought in the iron districts, where the rioters sometimes took refuge on cinder heaps, which supplied them with sharp cutting missiles. In 1795 the colliers and iron-workers being in a state of commotion, were only prevented from rising by assurances that gentlemen of property were disposed to contribute liberally to their relief, and thousands of bushels of Indian corn were obtained by the Squire and others from Liverpool to add to the grain procurable in the neighbourhood to meet immediate necessities. A meeting of gentlemen, farmers, millers, and tradesmen was held at the Tontine Hotel, on the 9th of July in that year, to consider the state of things arising out of the scarcity of corn and the dearness of all other provisions, at which a committee was formed for the immediate collection of contributions and the purchase of grain at a reduction of one-fourth, or 9s. for 12s. Mr. Forester at once gave notice to all his tenants to deliver wheat to the committee at 12s., whilst he himself gave £105, and agreed to advance £700 more, to be repaid from the produce of the corn sold at a reduced price. Such were the wants of the district, the murmurs of the inhabitants, and the distinctions made between those who were considered benefactors, and others who were not, that fear was entertained of a general uprising; and application was made to Mr. Forester, both as a friend and a magistrate. He assumed more the character of the former, and his presence acted like magic upon the rough miners, who by his kindness and tact were at once put into good humour. Having brought waggons of coal, drawn with ropes, for sale, the first thing the Squire did was to purchase the coal: he then bought up all the butter in the market, and purchased all the bread in the town, he emptied the butchers’ shops in the same way, and advised the men to go home with the provisions he gave them.
We are quite aware that it might be said that Squire Forester was not a model for imitation; and it might be replied that no man ever was, altogether, even for men of his own time, much less for those of one or two generations removed, always excepting Him whose name should never be uttered lightly, and in whom the human and divine were combined. He had sufficient inherent good qualities, however, to make half a dozen ordinary modern country gentlemen popular; still his one failing, shared among the same number, might no less damn them in the eyes of society.
Some would, no doubt, have liked Dibdin’s heroes better if he had been less truthful, by making the language more agreeable to the ear, by substituting, as one writer has said, “dear me” for “damme,” and lemonade for grog; but such critics are what Dibdin himself called “lubbers” and “swabs.” In the same way, some would be for toning down the characters of Squire Forester and Parson Stephens; but this would be a mistake: an artist might as well smooth over with vegetation every out-cropping rock he finds in his foreground. We might say a great deal more about the old Squire, and the Willey Rector too, but there is no reason why we should say less. If we err, we err with the best and gravest writers of history, who, without fear or favour, wrote of things as they found them; and those who are familiar with the writings of men of the past—such as the Sixth Satire of Juvenal, will admit that men like Squire Forester were examples of modesty. Men of all grades, every day, are brought in contact with much that might more strongly be objected to in the public Press; and there is no reason why the veil should not be raised in order that we may view the past as it really was.
The fact is, the Squire found the atmosphere of the times congenial to his temperament. A very popular Shropshire rake and play writer, Wycherley, had done much to lower the tone of morality by representing peccadilloes, not as something which the violence of passion may excuse, but as accomplishments worthy of gentlemen,—his “Country Wife” and “Plain Dealer” being examples. Congreve followed in his wake, with his “Old Bachelor,” which may be judged by its apothegm:—
“What rugged ways attend the noon of life;
Our sun declines, and with what anxious strife,
What pain, we tug that galling load—a wife!”
A fair estimate of the looseness of the time may be formed from another representation:—
“The miracle to-day is, that we find
A lover true, not that a woman’s kind;”
and from the fact that even Pope, in his “Epistle to a Lady,” out of his mature experience could write—
“Men some to business, some to pleasure take,
But every woman is at heart a rake.”
The Squire had been jilted, and breathing such an atmosphere, no wonder he cast lingering looks to the time
“Ere one to one was cursedly confined,”
or that he never married. It is fortunate he did not, for Venus herself, we fancy, could not have kept him by her side. His amours were notorious, and some of his mistresses were rare specimens of rustic beauty. Two daring spirits who followed the hounds were regular Dianas in their way, and he spent much of his time in the rural little cottages of these and others which were dotted over the estate at no great distance from the Hall. As rare Ben Jonson has it:—
“When some one peculiar quality
Doth so possess a man that it doth draw
All his effects, his spirits, and his powers,
In their confluction all to run one way,
This may be truly said to be a humour.”
Such a humour the old Squire had. Towards the last he found that some of his mistresses gave him a good deal of trouble; for in carrying out his desire to leave them comfortably provided for, his best intentions created jealousy, and he found it difficult to adjust their claims as regarded matters of income, Phœbe Higgs, who survived the Squire many years, and lived in a cottage with land attached, on the Willey side of the Shirlot, being the most clamorous. She set out one night with the intention of shooting the Squire, but was unnerved by her favourite monkey, who had stealthily gone on before, and jumped unobserved on her shoulder as she opened a gate. On another occasion she succeeded in surprising the Squire by forcing her way into his room and pointing a loaded pistol at him across the table, vowing she would shoot him unless he promised to make the sum left for her maintenance equal to that of Miss Cal—t. He had his children educated; they frequently visited at the Hall, and some married well. He speaks of them as his children and grandchildren in his letters, and manifested the greatest anxiety that everything should be done that could be done, by provisions in his will for those he was about to leave behind him. Indeed the same characteristics which gave a colouring to his life distinguished him to the last; and if the old fires burnt less brightly, the same inner sense and outward manifestations were evident in all he did.
One thing which troubled him was the chancel of Barrow Church, as will be seen by the following characteristic letter to his agent, Mr. Pritchard, asking him to procure a legal opinion about certain encroachments upon what he conceived to be his rights, and those of the parishioners:—
“Dear Sir,—
“You must remember Parson Jones has oft been talking to me about the pews put up, unfairly, I think, in the chancel of Barrow church. The whole of the chancel is mine as patron, and I am always obliged to do all the repairs to it, whenever wanted. There is a little small pew in it of very ancient date, besides these other two; in this, I suppose, it is intended to thrust poor me, the patron, into; humble and meek, and deprived of every comfort on my own spot, the chancel. The parson, you know, has been saucy on the occasion, as you know all black Toms are, and therefore I’ll now know my power from Mr. Mytton, and set the matter straight somehow or other. I can safely swear at this minute a dozen people of this parish (crowd as they will) can’t receive the Sacrament together, and therefore, instead of there being pews of any kind therein, there ought to be none at all, but a free unencumbered chancel at this hour. Rather than be as it is, I’ll be at the expense of pulling the present chancel down, rebuilding and enlarging it, so as to make all convenient and clever, before I’ll suffer these encroachments attended with every insult upon earth. Surely upon a representation to the bishop that the present chancel is much too small, and that the patron, at his own expense, wishes to enlarge it, I cannot think but it will be comply’d with. If this is not Mr. Mytton’s opinion as the best way, what is? and how am I to manage these encroaches?
“Yours ever,
—“P.S.—If the old chancel is taken down, I’ll take care that no pew shall stand in the new one. Mr. Mytton will properly turn this in his mind, and I’ll then face the old kit of them boldly. The old pew I spoke of, besides the other two in the chancel (mean and dirty as it is to a degree), yet the parson wants to let, if he does not do so now, to any person that comes to church, no matter who, so long as he gets the cash. It’s so small no one can sit with bended knees in it; and, in short, the whole chancel is not more than one-half as big as the little room I am now seated in; which must apparently show you, and, on your representation, Mr. Mytton likewise, how much too small it must be for so large a parish as Barrow, and with the addition of three pews—one very large indeed, the next to hold two or three people abreast, and the latter about three sideways, always standing, and totally unable to kneel in the least comfort.”
Years were beginning to tell upon the old sportsman, reminding him that his career was drawing to a close, and he appeared to apprehend the truth Sir Thomas Brown embodied in the remark, that every hour adds to the current arithmetic, which scarce stands one moment; and since “the longest sun sets at right declensions,” he looked forward to that setting and made arrangements accordingly, which were in perfect keeping with the character of the man. He felt that his day was done, that night was coming on; and it was his wish that those who knew him best should be those chosen to attend his funeral, that his domestics and servants who had experienced his kindness should carry him to the tomb. And let it be when the sun goes down, when the work of the day is done; let each have a guinea, that he may meet his neighbour afterwards and talk over, if he likes, the merits and demerits of his old master, as none—next to his Maker—know them better. The provisions in the will of the old Squire, in which he left his estates to his cousin Cecil, afterwards Lord Forester, father of the present Right Hon. Lord Forester, made about five years before his death, were evidently made in this spirit.
He became ill at one of his cottages on Shirlot, was taken home, attended by Dr. Thursfield (grandfather of the present Greville Thursfield, M.D.), and died whilst the doctor was still with him, on the 13th of July, 1811, in the seventy-third year of his age.