The Third George: (Georgian Series) (42 page)

Two years previously the Catholic Relief Bill was brought before Parliament, was passed through both Houses without much publicity, and George had very willingly given it his signature.

All would have been well but for Lord George Gordon, who at thirty years old was weak, unbalanced and had a grudge against life. He was a younger son of the Duke of Gordon; and his brother, William had been the lover of Sarah Lennox which had brought him into some prominence because of Sarah’s early relationship with the King.

He had had a commission in the Navy, but because he was not given a ship of his own he resigned. He was a strange man, fanatically religious while leading a life of debauchery. Six years previously he had entered Parliament where he sought to make a name for himself as he had in the Navy. He was very handsome and a good speaker, but he lacked something which was essential to success. He could grow hysterical; he was often the
worse for drink and it was known that he often spent his nights in the brothels.

No one was very much aware of him. When he rose to speak in the House many members would slip out. He was there because of his family; and he was nothing on his own.

This rankled and looking about him for a way of calling attention to himself, he found it in the Catholic Relief Bill. He himself was a Protestant and had opposed the Bill, but his little protest was quite unimportant. Or was it? Well, they would see.

He hit on a way of making them take notice of him, and he became fanatically overjoyed at the result of his efforts.

First he had joined the Protestant Association of England which was delighted to welcome a lord into its midst, and it was a very short step for Lord George between joining and becoming its President.

In Scotland the Society was very strong and there had been some dissension across the border when the Relief Bill was passed, the Protestant Association up there having encouraged its members to riot in one or two towns.

Now if Lord George could bring about the abolition of the Catholic Relief Act or, failing that, whip the Protestants of London to such a fury that they would behave as those in Scotland, he would be famous.

No one could laugh at him then, no one could think him insignificant. No one could say that if he were not a Gordon he would be nowhere.

Therefore he would start actions which would mean his name would be remembered in the history books of tomorrow while the Protestants of today claimed him as the hero who had saved them from the Catholic threat.

*

Having a mission, Lord George was indefatigable. His dark limp hair fell about his ears; his pale skin was damp with the sweat of exertion; the fanatic looked out from his wild eyes as he went to the newspaper offices to insert advertisements that the people might know he was working on their behalf. He had a petition for the Repeal of the Catholic Relief Act which had been signed by thousands; and anyone who wanted a copy of the petition and the signatures could get it at the various stated places.

Meanwhile in the Houses of Parliament he asked for the
Repeal of the Act; he declared that he was speaking for thousands and that the Government would be ill advised to ignore him.

The Government ignored him.

Gordon then wrote a long pamphlet and asked for an audience with the King, and when George received him Gordon insisted on reading the pamphlet to him.

The King listened and then became tired of the excited fanatic who went on voicing arguments with which he could not agree. George yawned significantly, but Gordon went on. George looked at his watch, but if Gordon noticed his sovereign’s impatience he gave no sign.

At last George could bear it no more. ‘Leave it,’ he said. ‘I will read the rest myself.’

Gordon could do nothing but retire at that, but he was not content when he heard no more from the King. He demanded other interviews during which he harangued the King, told him that many Protestants went so far as to believe the King was a Papist, and demanded something be done.

The King, worried by the conduct of the Prince of Wales, his brothers, the health of Octavius, the ever present subject of America, dismissed him again.

But he was disturbed.

He sent for North.

‘I begin to think this man Gordon is bent on stirring up trouble, eh? what?’

‘Your Majesty, the man is a born agitator.’

‘He’s saying they suspect me of being a Papist. What? Doesn’t he know my family have always been stern Protestants. The man’s a fool.’

‘A fool, sir, but a dangerous one. He is having meetings. His followers are everywhere. They’re a formidable body.’

‘I don’t think the Protestants are so fierce over their religion, eh?’

‘Sir, I have had my servants at his meetings. It’s not so much a matter of religion. He attracts the mob and the mob is glad of an opportunity to make trouble.’

‘Better find a way of stopping him.’

North agreed that this was an excellent idea.

*

North, with his genius for taking the wrong action, attempted to bribe Lord George, promising him money and a post in Parliament if he would leave the Protestant Association.

Lord George’s eyes gleamed. Money! He didn’t want money. His family had money. A position in Parliament which he would not be allowed to hold? He had never been able to hold any position.

What Lord George wanted was fame; and now he saw that it would be his. North must be afraid of him if he attempted to bribe him. That showed how powerful he was.

Lord George was a man intoxicated with his own power. They had never listened to him in Parliament. Well, they should see that there were some who were only too ready to listen.

He left North and went home to plan his next action.

A few days later a notice appeared in the
Public Advertiser
.

All members of the Protestant Association were to assemble in St George’s Fields. There they would hold a rally and decide on some plan of action. Members should wear a blue cockade to distinguish them from the spectators.

*

It was a sweltering hot day. When Lord George arrived at St George’s Fields he was delighted to see what a crowd was already there. There were thousands of blue cockades and many without them, for the London crowd could never resist a spectacle and from all parts of the city they had come to see the fun.

Lord George was cheered wildly, and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. This was what he needed. He addressed the assembly telling them that he was going to Parliament with his petition that the Catholic Relief Act might be repealed.

This statement was applauded; little bands of people from the Association marched round the fields singing hymns; and in due course they ranged themselves into an orderly procession to march to the Houses of Parliament.

On the way they were joined by many out for some sport.

The crowd began to get nasty.

This will show them, thought Lord George. He was confident that after this session of Parliament the Act would be repealed and he would be the hero of the day – and the years to come. He would be Prime Minister for he would have the support of the people. He saw a glorious future before him.

The crowd surged about the entrance of the House. Some carried banners displaying the words ‘No Popery’. As the Ministers began to arrive the mob jeered at them, threw refuse at them, and tore off their jackets and hats.

No one was hurt, however. Gordon was a little disappointed for, dishevelled as they were, the members showed no fear of the mob outside, and going into the House he presented his petition. This was seconded but completely defeated, for there were only nine votes in its favour.

Gordon was alarmed. It was in his power to incite the mob to violence but if he did so he would be guilty of treason; yet if he did not his petition would be dismissed and that was the end of the matter.

He left the House and spoke to the people.

‘His Majesty is a good and gracious King,’ he said, ‘and when he hears that the people are surrounding the House he will command his Ministers to repeal the Bill.’

He went back to the House and was asked if he intended to bring his friends in. If he did, one member warned him, drawing his sword, he would thrust it into Lord George’s body for a start.

Lord George grew pale. He was excited by violence but only when it was directed against others; it was because he so feared it that he liked to think of others suffering it.

He turned and went out once more to speak to the mob.

He had the power to move them and they began to disperse.

*

George had gone to Kew to see the Queen. She was not as well as she usually was during pregnancies. Perhaps, he thought, it is the anxiety over Octavius.

Her confinement was due in September so she had three months to go.

‘You are feeling the heat, eh?’ he said.

‘It has been so hot, but very pleasant here. But not so pleasant in London, I daresay. And I hear that there has been trouble.’

‘Trouble, eh? What? What trouble? Who said there was trouble?’

‘This affair of the Catholics. I heard the women talking of it.’

‘Women talk too much. Shouldn’t listen. Better go and see Octavius. Been better has he, eh?’

‘I fancy he has been a little better,’ said Charlotte. Why won’t he talk to me, she thought? Am I a fool that I am not supposed to understand? A brood mare? A queen bee? A cow for breeding? Is that the way he sees me?

She was beginning to dislike him. In the beginning she had thought him so good, for he had never been unkind. Or was it unkind to treat her as he had? His mother had started it but it had gone on since her death. She had not greatly cared because there were always the children, but now there was this trouble with George, and they were saying that Frederick was almost as bad. Frederick was teaching George to gamble and George was teaching Frederick to tipple. And neither of them ever came to see her. They despised her as they despised their father – perhaps even more.

Octavius was sleeping quietly and looked a little better.

‘The Kew air is good for him,’ said the King. ‘Make sure he doesn’t get too much rich food, eh? Plenty of vegetables. Not much meat, and fresh air. That’s the best, eh, what?’

They were interrupted by a messenger from Lord North.

The King should return at once, for rioting had broken out all over London.

Charlotte said: ‘George, at such a time I should be with you.’

‘You, eh? What? Nonsense. Never heard such nonsense. What of the child, eh? Next thing we’ll be hearing you’ll have had a miscarriage, eh?’

It was always the same. She was always kept out of affairs. Get on with the breeding. Leave state matters to the King and his ministers.

She almost hated him as she watched him leave.

The child moved within her. Three months and then another birth and again and again.

No! She would rebel. She found no pleasure in her relations with the King. She never had. She smiled grimly, imagining his comment if he had heard her say that.

‘Pleasure, eh? Why pleasure? It’s for the procreation of children, eh? What?’

*

Fires were springing up all over London. There was an ominous red light in the sky by night. The mob had gone mad. These were not, said North, the members of the Protestant Association;
this was the rabble, the scum, that element in every big city which is ready to come to the surface when emotions boil up. These were the thieves and the vagabonds, the jailbirds, the criminals. They burned, they looted and shouted ‘No Popery’ without knowing what it meant.

The houses of well-known Catholics were the first targets. Members of Parliament were the next; and of course the prisons. Newgate was burned to the ground; Clerkenwell Prison was broken into and prisoners released to swell the throng. There was murder in the streets.

George remained in St James’s. The mob hovered, uncertain. The guard was doubled and the King never hesitated to show himself, but made a point of mingling with the soldiers and talking to them and bringing refreshments to them during the night watches.

But something would have to be done.

Lord North discussed this with the King.

‘Action is needed without delay,’ said the King. ‘We dare not let this continue. It grows worse. What do you say, eh?’

‘Action, yes, sir, but what action?’

‘We have an army. We must use it.’

North was aghast. ‘Fire on the people, sir?’

‘Fire on them or let them destroy the capital.’

Lord North was horrified.

He left the King to consult the Cabinet.

*

George, who had always hated bloodshed of any sort, was thoughtful. That he should be the one to ask his soldiers to fire on his own subjects was abhorrent to him.

The mob, he thought. Poor deluded creatures. No sense. Led away. But I have my City to think of. They’re bent on destruction. They have to be stopped.

He was not a man to shirk the unpleasant. What had to be done had to be done and if it meant killing a few of his subjects to save many more, he would be ready to give the order.

*

‘Fire,’ was the order, ‘if peaceful methods are ineffective.’ All householders were to close their doors and keep within. The soldiers had a right to fire without awaiting orders.

The result of this order was to quell the riots. In a very short time the city was quiet. Three hundred rioters had been killed; some had died of drinking too much pilfered liquor, others had been burned to death, having in a drunken stupor fallen into the flames which they themselves had provoked. But the terror was over.

One hundred and ninety-two rioters were convicted, twenty-five of whom were executed. And Lord George Gordon was taken to the Tower on a charge of high treason.

The King was overcome with melancholy. He had given orders to fire on his own subjects and many had lost their lives.

The Dean of St Paul’s remarked that the King by ordering the soldiers to fire on the mob had saved the cities of London and Westminster. This was true, but George was none the less grieved.

And all through that hot summer he was sad; but he did rejoice in September when another son was born.