More Sport for our Neighbours

by Ronald McGowan

  The first two villages through which we passed, Grangetown and Ryhope, seemed prosperous, agricultural communities, and obviously served as breadbaskets for the town. Shortly after Ryhope, we passed the end of a steep, almost ravine-like valley, its sides clothed with trees of all descriptions, with glimpses of a stream at its bottom, and this was the nearest we approached to the picturesque at any point on the road.

  Thereafter, the settlements became smaller and more cramped- looking, often no more than a few houses by the roadside. We stopped at one of these for our mid-day halt which gave me the opportunity to ease my saddle-sore frame, and also to question Wickham about his intentions when we reached our destination.

  “To tell you the truth, that depends on what we find there,” he replied. “If the streets are safe, and the town appears normal, I intend no more than to seek out the mayor and see what further information he can give me, before applying to the custodians of our Frenchman for him to be handed over to my charge. If we meet with a riot in full progress, there will be little enough I can do to suppress it with but twenty men. Besides, this is England. We are not on campaign, and there are proprieties to be observed before I may legally do anything.

  My plan, as far as I can be said to have anything as concrete as a plan, is to seek out the mayor, one Alderman Weddle, and find out from him the current state of things and where the prisoner is being held. Then, all being well, we will take custody of this Frenchman and leave in the morning, having taken overnight accommodation at some convenient inn, with a suitable stable for the men.”

  “And if all be not well?” I enquired.

  “Then what we do will depend upon the nature of the illness. If the whole town be against us, we can scarce do anything. If it be but a few agitators, then we may see something like action. But have no fear, I do not anticipate anything drastic. I should not have brought you if I feared any real danger.”

  These were cheerful words, and they were matched by the appearance of the town as we entered it. The streets were deserted, the doors and windows closed, and where they were installed, shutters drawn. When we reached the centre, there was still no sign of life. The shops were all closed, some of them with windows boarded up, as if in anticipation of trouble. In their upper stories, the odd curtain twitched, but otherwise all was still. The Town Hall, too, was in like state.

  I have the good fortune to have been born an Englishman. I have never experienced life in a town awaiting occupation by a hostile army, as has happened to so many on the continent of late, but I imagine Hartlepool that day gave a fair impression.

  “This does not look good,” said Wickham. “Sergeant, have the men load and fix bayonets, but make sure they know that anyone who fires without orders will regret it.”

  With a loud, “Sah!” the sergeant turned to the men and bellowed a string of totally incomprehensible orders.

  The result was immediate and electrifying. What had been a set of individuals standing easily behind us became as one machine, their arms rising and falling as one as they loaded and primed their muskets and fixed the wicked-looking bayonets on the end. Then, without further words, they spread out (scattered would be too disorganized a word) into groups of two or three, alert and ready, covering all approaches to the square in which we found ourselves.

  “This will not do,” said Wickham. “Sergeant, detail two trustworthy men to find us someone to talk to. They are to be as polite as may be in their invitation to join us, mind.”

  With his customary ‘Sah!’ the sergeant stalked over to one pair of soldiers, who, after a few moments whispering among themselves, set off along the street leading seawards.

  “We may as well make ourselves comfortable while we wait. Alternate sections may stand easy, and smoke if they wish. Change over after fifteen minutes. Make it so, sergeant.”

  The fifteen minutes had not passed before the two soldiers returned, bringing with them a gentleman of clerical aspect.

  “Are you in command here, sir?” he addressed Wickham before either of us could say a word, and, on Wickham signifying the affirmative, continued in a voice more accustomed to the pulpit than the open street.

  “I am glad to welcome you sir, and hope that we may soon see order restored here. My name is Oakes, sir. I am anxious to give you what assistance I may, but I must beg you not to detain me longer than is necessary, as I was on the way to bring the sacrament to a dying parishioner when your men, er, invited me to come with them. I should not have been on the streets else; they are not safe for decent people, with these fishermen and agitators rioting about.”

  “I trust my men did not exceed their duty in detaining you, sir?”

  “Oh, no, they were perfectly polite, if rather insistent. The possession of a loaded musket and a sharp bayonet does have a certain persuasive power that might otherwise be lacking, however. But where are the rest of your men?”

  “I am not at liberty to disclose that information, sir. Walls have ears, as they say, and it would not do to forewarn these agitators you mention.”

  “Oh, quite, quite, forgive me for asking. But when do you propose to set about restoring order sir?”

  “There are certain formalities that must be observed, sir, before the military may intervene in upholding civil law. Before I can do anything I must consult with the mayor of this borough, but the town hall is closed and shuttered. Can you tell me where I may find Alderman Weddle?”

  “I should imagine he is to be found where he is normally found, at most times, on most days, at the Ship Inn. No, that is not quite as bad as it sounds. He is not a habitué, but the landlord. We are perhaps now witnessing the judgement of the almighty on this town for conferring its chief dignity upon the practitioner of such a trade.”

  “No doubt, sir, no doubt. But can you tell me where I may find this Ship Inn? In exchange for the information, I will happily send two of my men to see you safe to your destination.”

  The directions received, and the parson sent on his way with his escort, Wickham ordered the sergeant to fall in the men.

  “Was that not a trifle disingenuous of you?” I enquired. “You have no other men.”

  “No more do I have. But it will do us no harm if it is thought that there are more redcoats lurking somewhere about the place, especially if things are so bad as our clerical friend would have us believe. You must remember that I am – or at least have been – by way of a scoundrel. This is not the first time I have had to think on my feet. Now let us see what Mr Weddle has to say.”

  Parson Oakes cannot have had far to go, for we were rejoined by the two men sent to escort him before we reached the hostelry. From its forecourt we had a rather impressive view of the abbey church of St Hilda, towering over the mean dwellings at its feet, thrusting out into the north sea like a great ship.

  “Perhaps you might spare me for half an hour?” I suggested. “In fact, would my presence not be considered intrusive on your first interview with His Worship?”

  “But it is precisely because of that that your presence is most essential,” replied Wickham. “If Mr Weddle spends half his time wondering who this strange, civilian presence might be – and I intend to keep that as vague as may be – he is more likely to give straight answers to my questions.”

  I had had no real hope, and could only consign further investigations into any relics of ancient Hereteu to an indeterminate future.

  It was all the more provoking that Mr Weddle proved more than commonly eager for our help, and equally eager to do everything in his power to obtain it.

  “Here you are at last!” he cried, upon first sight of Wickham’s red coat and bicorne hat. “Now we may all sleep soundly again. You have seen the state of the town, sir, the streets deserted, everywhere locked up. No decent person dare stir for fear of what may happen. It is killing the town, sir, it is killing trade. Just look around you, sir, where is everybody, where are my customers? I will tell you, sir, they are all at home, hiding under their beds, with their do
ors locked and barricaded, dreading what the jacobins and rioters will do next.”

  “I regret to say, sir,” replied Wickham, “that I have yet to see any direct sign of their having done anything, or even of their existence. The streets are strangely empty, doors and windows are boarded up but of actual violence there seems to be no evidence. I am, by the way, Captain Wickham, of the 68th Regiment of Foot , and I am come in response to the letter you sent to the commander of the garrison at Sunderland, if, indeed, you are Alderman Weddle.”

  “Of course I am Weddle, man. Who else should I be? Move your men but one street closer to the Sands, sir, and you will see plenty, aye, and hear it, too. They have occupied all the shoreline, and the old town wall and the streets next to it. They have barricaded all the ways in and out, and threaten to storm the courthouse if the magistrates will not agree to try the French spy and hang him. They are rebels against established authority sir, and you must suppress them, immediately, before every decent soul in this town is murdered in their beds.”

  “Rebels they may be,” I could not help interjecting, “but at least it appears that they are sufficiently English rebels to be reluctant to hang the poor man without a trial, even if they have prejudged the conclusion.”

  “And who might you be, sir?” was the rejoinder, reminding me that I should have held my peace.

  “This is Mr Bennet,” put in Wickham, “a gentleman of property and high standing from London way, old and wise in the law, and no stranger to the Bench. He is my legal advisor on this mission. And I must tell you, Mr Weddle, there is a deal to do before I may legally intervene in a civil disorder such as you describe. There must be a full meeting of the town council, in which it must be resolved – and minuted – that help should be sought from the military, “in aid of the civil power.” Then the Riot Act must be read to the rioters, and sufficient time must be given them to comply with its requirements. Only then may I declare Martial Law and move to put down this rising, if rising it is, for I have seen no evidence to support such a conclusion.

  I take it that you have already taken these measures before requesting assistance, and that you have documentary proof that you have done so?”

  A sheepish look stole over the landlord’s face.

  “Well, er, no.” he admitted. “I had no idea the law was so complicated, and so stringent. Can you not just get on with it? You may see for yourself in but a few moments how perilous the situation is. We have no time for formalities.”

  “It is more perilous than you may think, sir. If one of my men were so much as to fire a shot, and that shot, however accidentally, were to prove fatal to the meanest person, and we had not taken these ‘formalities’, as you call them, then all of us in this room, as well as the offending soldier, might find ourselves charged with murder, or at least manslaughter. Does the council not have a legal assistant to advise them on these things? Surely your Town Clerk should have done so?”

  “I blush to admit, sir, that our Town Clerk is part of the problem. He is a notorious radical, and it is he who is leading the troublemakers, along with Geordie Charlton, a known malignant among the town’s fisherfolk.”

  “You may well be embarrassed, sir. Well, in any case there is one more thing I must do before we can proceed. I have with me a writ from the High Court at Newcastle, requiring whoever holds the Frenchman prisoner to give him into my custody, for transport to the Assizes at Newcastle for trial. I must serve that writ before any other expedients may be tried, and who knows, it may be efficacious? If so all other measures will be otiose.

  I suggest that while I do so you see to this council meeting and have a proper record kept of its proceedings, and look out your copy of the Riot Act. But first of all, I would be obliged if you would prepare your two best rooms for Mr Bennet and myself, as well as suitable accommodation for twenty other ranks. It appears that both will be needed, since we are unlikely to finish our business here today.”

  “Twenty common soldiers, certainly. But where are the rest of your men? Are they billeted elsewhere?”

  “That is something I do not choose to disclose, sir. I intend to present myself to these ‘insurgents’ in the most harmless manner possible, rather than with massed ranks of redcoats behind me, so that matters may be resolved, if possible, without violence. Should that not be possible, then the element of surprise may prove decisive.”

  I offered to survey the mayor’s choice of rooms for us, while Wickham saw to the lodging of his men, and followed the landlord up the stairs.

  I caught mine host casting a nervous eye upon me all the while.

  “Captain Wickham said you were a great man on the Bench in London, sir, did he not?” he enquired haltingly at last.

  “I cannot deny that he said something of that nature,” I replied.

  “Come to see that everything is done just so, I expect?”

  I thought it best to remain silent.

  “I suppose you know where the rest of his men are? Or is he just the advance guard, and the main force is coming on after?”

  “Captain Wickham,” I replied, “has impressed upon me the need for discretion, and I entirely agree with him upon its desirability.”

  I really cannot say whether Mrs Bennet would count that as one of my ‘setdowns’, but it served its purpose in discouraging further enquiries.

  I gave instructions for the installing of my bag, and went to join Wickham in the yard.

  I found him standing there with his sabre by his side and two rather smart examples of Mr Egg’s craft clipped onto his belt by their spring hooks.

  My reaction to them must have been evident, for before I could say anything, Wickham drew me to one side.

  “I do not really anticipate any danger,” he said, “or I should never ask you to accompany me, but it is just as well to be prepared, and to be seen to be prepared. I must speak to these ringleaders, and serve my writ upon them, and I should like, if possible, to lay my eyes upon the Gallic gentleman who has been the cause of all this trouble.

  I lay no charge upon you, I do not even ask you to go with me, but it would be useful, I think, to have your services as an independent witness to this first contact with the ‘rebels’. I do not ask, I make no mention of the word ‘obligation’, I merely state my opinion, which you may perfectly correctly adopt or ignore as you choose.”

  “Oh, I too should like to interview our friend from across the channel, although I fear that at this moment my Wogdons repose peacefully in my locked desk at Longbourn.”

  “And long may they do so, Mr Bennet. You are a true friend. But I hope your obvious civilian status will be all that is necessary for your safety.”

  “I hope so too, but I shall take a stout stick with me, nonetheless. I shall lean heavily upon it, and be your perfect doddering old attorney, with my spectacles perched upon my nose, although I regret I cannot lay my hands just now upon a bag wig. No-one, I assure you, will take me seriously for one moment.”

  So, after a moment for me to assume my new guise, we set off in the direction pointed out by the landlord.

  I could not resist complimenting my son-in-law upon how he had taken in the mayor with his mixture of half-truths and flummery, though I should not have been surprised, considering his career in Meryton.

  “I should perhaps resent that, did I not know what you mean,” Wickham riposted. “Every word I said was God’s truth. If he chose to pay attention to what I did not say, and interpreted it the way he chose, am I to blame? And not so much flummery, either. The legal bind we are in is much as I have explained it.”

  “So, you are become a barrack-room lawyer since your marriage?”

  “I had to defend an officer of Militia on just such a charge not twelve months ago, when the Tyneside Yeomanry were called in to quell a disturbance at Ashington, where the pitmen were combining to demand higher wages, or shorter hours, or some such shocking crime, and things got out of hand. None of his fellow officers would undertake the task for him, and Col
onel Lambton somehow thought that I would be well suited for finding legal quibbles, ‘con un equivoco, con un sinonimo’ as it were, and offered my services.

  I soon discovered why his fellows had refused to defend the man, and, to tell the truth, I was not exactly broken- hearted when he was condemned, but I could not bear to do a botched job for him, and I necessarily picked up some little smattering of the legal niceties. But it appears that more than that may soon be needed, for here is one of Mr Weddle’s barricades.”

  The street, as it happened, was quite narrow enough to be blocked by a farm wagon drawn across it, with an assortment of barrels and crates to fill the gap. Perched on top were two figures in Guernsey frocks, smelling very much of fish. One of them carried an old fowling-piece, while the other boasted a wicked-looking weapon, which I took to be a cutlass.

  Wickham smiled as if they were the answer to his prayers.

  “One thing that will never do is to show fear,” he muttered to me aside, “but this is your last chance to seek the safe way out, sir.”

  When I gave him no reply, he shrugged, and walked boldly up to the barrier.

  “I am Captain Wickham, of the 68th Regiment of Foot,” he proclaimed, loudly enough to be heard from one end of the street to the other. I am come from Sunderland to look into this business of the French Spy. My men are at hand, and have their orders. If I, and my companion, do not return to them within the hour, they will come looking for us, and will probably be quite upset, and not in a mood for pleasantry. I never thought I should have occasion to say this in real life, but I say it now. Take me to your leader.”