The Siege of London (Posteritas)/Chapter 7
EXASPERATION OF THE ENGLISH PEOPLE AGAINST THEIR RULERS.—STERN RESOLVE TO OPPOSE THE ENEMY.—GREAT SUFFERING AMONGST THE POOR.—FABULOUS PRICE OF MEAT AND BREAD.—MORE RIOTS AND DESTRUCTION OF PROPERTY.
IT would be an exceedingly difficult matter to depict in adequately graphic language the effect the news that Dover was in the hands of the enemy had upon the people of England. The landing of a force in the North caused, comparatively speaking, little concern generally, for it was a far cry from Sutherlandshire to London, and long before the saucy foe had travelled far into the country he would be cut to pieces. But even if he succeeded in running the gauntlet of the infuriated Highlanders, the army that was hurrying North to meet him would speedily annihilate him. This was the view that people took, and there was no despondency; on the contrary, a feeling of elation that British steel and British pluck would make the French pay a terrible penalty, as they had done so often on previous occasions when opposed to England's might. This feeling was suddenly changed by the report of the battle at Plymouth and the landing at Dover, where the French, having established a tête du pont would have no difficulty in pouring in an enormous army, unless their lines in the Channel could be cut. But of that there seemed little hope, for it was placed beyond the region of doubt that the British fleet was shamefully weak, and pitilessly inadequate to cope with the power of the enemy. Over the whole face of the country there was a feeling of bitter and dangerous exasperation against those who for years had been frittering away England's power. The navy, which should have made invasion impossible, had failed utterly, owing to its weakness, and now the soil of England was actually to be trampled by an invader's foot. No wonder that the first effect of this on the minds of, the populace was the production of an awful panic. Women went raving mad, and men, beside themselves with despair, slaughtered their children lest they should fall into the hands of the French. Crowds of men and women, excited into fury, rushed about the town, creating havoc and destruction wherever they went. It is to the credit of the British people, however, whose heroism and valour had won for them a great name, that they were not long infected with this panic. It was succeeded by a universal determination that, though their hour of doom had struck, it should find them like lions at bay. They would die by their tens of thousands, but their land should be sodden with the blood of their foe. And if the worst came to the worst, he should find nothing but blazing towns wherever he went, and from John o'Groats to the Land's End the country should be the funeral pyre of its wretched inhabitants. Every one knew that each town must depend upon its own resources. It was hopeless to expect succour, and impossible to send succour. If the French were enabled to land a sufficient number of men, they would probably overrun the country, but the capital would be the main object aimed at. A fierce and determined opposition would no doubt be offered, but it could only result in useless slaughter, and suffering, for where could help come from? If the French, having command of their lines right to the French coast, continued to pour in troops, then, indeed, England was doomed; but if, by some supreme effort, the navy could cut the lines, the invaders would be caught like rats in a trap, and the people would rise by their millions, and drive them into the sea.
To the navy, then, men turned their eyes, while they girded themselves up for the mighty death-struggle in which they must engage. But after all it was a forlorn hope, for the enormous coast-line that had to be guarded and the few ships there were for the purpose rendered it highly improbable that the French strength could be broken.
Even at the commencement of this awful period the suffering was appalling. Meat had reached a fabulous price, and bread was two shillings the four-pound loaf. The distress and suffering amongst the poor were heartrending, and thousands died daily; while, to add to the horrors, the weather was bitterly cold, and snow and rain fell incessantly.
Truly it was a dark day for England. The proud country whose flags had waved on every sea, and on whose possessions the sun was said never to set, was now in the hands of a ruthless and revengeful enemy. Britons, whose freedom had been a watchword for centuries, and whose boast that they never would be slaves had rung through the world, were now struggling to be allowed to live; and it seemed probable that crushed, broken, and bleeding they would yet have to acknowledge the conqueror's galling yoke. No wonder that in this evil hour anathemas were uttered against the sham patriots and the place-seeking demagogues who, by their false policy and their clap-trap sentiments, had brought about the decay of England's might. No wonder that the furious populace reviled and battered into the dust every monument that sought to perpetuate the memory of these men. But reviling and fury were useless. The men were beyond the reach of either, though their unhappy country that they had betrayed was bleeding at every pore, and her great heart would be torn out by her bloodthirsty enemy. But their names would be remembered through all time, and sucking babes would be taught to curse them.