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RECEPTION OF THE NEWS OF THE BATTLE OF THE NILE—NELSON SENDS FRENCH ADMIRAL’S SWORD TO THE CITY OF LONDON—VARIOUS CARICATURES ON THE BATTLE—TYPICAL JOHN BULL.

It was not till October 2 that a glimmer of the truth, through rather a roundabout channel, appeared in the papers; and later on that day appeared a ‘London Gazette extraordinary,’ with Nelson’s despatches, which were very brief. Who can wonder at the excessive national rejoicing? People were drunk with joy. Take a few paragraphs from the ‘Times’ of October 3:—

‘Drury Lane.—After the play, the news of Admiral Nelson’s glorious victory produced a burst of patriotic exultation that has been rarely witnessed in a theatre. “Rule Britannia” was unanimously called for from every part of the house, and Messrs. Kelly, Dignum, Sedgewick, Miss Leak, and Mrs. Bland, came forward and sung it, accompanied by numbers of the audience. It was called for, and sung, a second time. The acclamations were the loudest and most fervent we have ever witnessed.

‘The following lines, written for the occasion, were introduced by Mr. Dignum and Mr. Sedgewick—

Again the tributary Strain

Of grateful Britons let us raise,

And to the Heroes on the Main,

Triumphant add a Nelson’s praise.

Though the Great Nation proudly boasts Herself invincible to be; Yet our brave Nelson still can prove Britannia, Mistress of the Sea.

The audience were not satisfied with this repeated mark of exultation, but in the effusion of enthusiastic loyalty, called for “God save the King,” which was received with reiterated plaudits.’

‘Immediately that the news of the gallant victory obtained by Admiral Nelson was known at Lloyd’s, a subscription was opened for the relief of the widows and orphans of the brave men who perished in fighting for their country.’42

‘Every man in this country may address Admiral Nelson with Shakespeare,

Horatio, thou art e’en as brave a man As e’er my understanding cop’d withal.

The Capture of the French Fleet by Nelson, has reduced Buonaparte to the situation of Macbeth,

There is no going hence, nor tarrying here.’

‘A person last night, in the gallery of Drury Lane house, calling frequently for the tune of Britons strike Home,43 was immediately silenced by the appropriate observation of another at some distance from him, “Why, damn it, they have—have not they?” ’

‘An affray happened last night opposite to the Admiralty, where the crowd was very great. The mob, as usual, insisted on every person of genteel appearance pulling off their hats; six Officers passing along, were ordered to pay the same compliment to the mobility, and, refusing to do so, the populace attempted to force their hats off. The Officers drew their swords, and it was said that some persons were wounded.’

The next day’s ‘Times’ (October 4) says: ‘To shew the zeal for Illumination in honour of our late splendid Victory, a chaise last night passed through the town, in which were three Ladies, with large cockades in their head dresses. The inside of the chaise was lighted up; a postillion was on each horse with flambeaux in their hands, besides two outriders, also carrying flambeaux.’

‘It was remarked by a loyal Hibernian, on the official news of Admiral Nelson’s victory, that nothing on earth could resist us by sea.’

The mob after a day or two became so uproarious that the magistrates were compelled to order the cessation of the illuminations.

On October 3 the Court of Common Council met, two hundred strong, when the Lord Mayor read the subjoined letter from Nelson—

Vanguard, Mouth of the Nile:

August 8th, 1798.

My Lord—Having the honour of being a freeman of the City of London, I take the liberty of sending to your Lordship the sword of the commanding French admiral, Monsieur Blanquet, who survived after the battle of the 1st, off the Nile, and request that the City of London will honour me with the acceptance of it, as a remembrance that Britannia still rules the waves; which that she may for ever do, is the fervent prayer of

Your lordship’s

Most obedient Servant

Horatio Nelson.

Right hon. the Lord Mayor of London.

Naturally, this gratifying memorial of this splendid victory was welcomed with enthusiasm, and orders were given to provide a suitable case, with inscription, for it; and the Council voted Nelson a sword, value 200 guineas; also the freedom of the City in a gold box, value 100 guineas, to Captain Berry, who was captain of the admiral’s flagship, the ‘Vanguard;’ and the thanks of the court to every one concerned.

The caricaturists soon pounced upon the subject, and the way in which the news of the victory was taken by different statesmen is very amusingly shown. (Gillray, October 3, 1798.) Burdett, who is always represented with his crop of hair combed over his eyes, is reading the ‘Extraordinary Gazette,’ and, in astonishment, exclaims, ‘Sure I cannot see clear?’ Jekyll is telling Lord Lansdowne how nine French ships of war were captured and two burnt; but his lordship claps his hands to his ears, and calls out, ‘I can’t hear, I can’t hear.’ The Duke of Bedford will not believe it, and is tearing up the notification of ‘the complete destruction of Buonaparte’s Fleet,’ exclaiming, ‘It’s all a damn’d Lye;’ whilst poor Erskine, with Republican briefs before him, drops the paper which tells him of the capture of Bonaparte’s despatches, and, with a smelling-bottle to his nose, plaintively calls out, ‘I shall faint, I, I, I.’ The poor Duke of Norfolk, whose many empty bottles of port testify to his inebriate condition, is very ill, and gives his opinion that ‘Nelson and the British Fleet’ is ‘a sickening toast.’ Tierney is in despair, and with the ‘End of the Irish Rebellion’ in his pocket, and on his knees a paper, ‘End of the French Navy. Britannia rules the Waves,’ calls out, with upturned eyes, ‘Ah! our hopes are all lost.’

Moodily, with his head resting on his hands, sits Sheridan, with a ‘List of the Republican Ships taken and destroyed’ before him, and his thoughts are of prudence, ‘I must lock up my Jaw.’ Black-visaged Fox, wearing a Cap of Liberty, has kicked over the stool that hitherto has supported him, and mournfully bidding ‘Farewell to the Whig Club,’ says, ‘and I—— end with Éclat.’

This victory of the Nile is very graphically depicted (Gillray, October 6, 1798) in the ‘Extirpation of the Plagues of Egypt;—Destruction of Revolutionary Crocodiles;—or—The British Hero cleansing y^e Mouth of y^e Nile.’ Here Nelson has half-a-dozen crocodiles (typical of captured French ships) hooked and in his power, whilst, with a stout cudgel of ‘British Oak,’ he is spreading deadly blows and consternation into a quantity of tricoloured crocodiles. The blowing up of the ‘Orient’ is shown by one crocodile which is thus being destroyed.

Another caricature (October 7, 1798) of the victory of the Nile is ‘The Gallant Nellson bringing home two uncommon fierce French Crocodiles from the Nile as a present to the King.’ The one-armed hero is leading by a chain Fox and Sheridan, who have their jaws muzzled by rings, and Fox’s mouth is also secured by a padlock, ‘a mouthpiece for hypocrites.’ They are both weeping copiously, after the fabled manner of crocodiles. Nelson is saying, ‘Come along you Hypocritical dogs, I dare say your Dam’d sorry now for what you’ve done. No, no, I shall bring you to my Master;’ whilst John Bull, habited as a countryman, exclaims, ‘Aye, aye, what! Horatio has got ’em at last. Why, these be the Old Cock Deviles. I thought as how he would not go so far for nothing.’ This goes well with that of October 3.

A very curious caricature is (Ansell, October 24, 1798) Bonaparte in Egypt, ‘A terrible Turk preparing a Mummy for a present to the Grand Nation.’ A Turk, terrible indeed, has Napoleon by the throat, and, with sword in hand, is going to despatch him, saying, ‘As for you, you Dog of no Religion, I’ll sacrifice you at the tomb of the Prophet, whose name you have prophaned for the purposes of Murder, Rapine, and Plunder.’

Napoleon, whose defenceless state is typified by his swordless scabbard being broken, is endeavouring to mollify the wrath of the Turk. ‘Now, mild and gentle Sir, don’t be so rough: do you think I would cut your throat, ravish your wives, or plunder your house? No, by Mahomet I would not. Sacrè Dieu, I would not. Ah, Diable, you’ll choak me.’

Fox, Erskine, Sheridan, and the Duke of Norfolk are kneeling down, begging for Napoleon’s life, whilst a Turk, who exclaims, ‘You agree together so well, I think I’ll fix you together for life,’ has a bowstring ready to strangle all four. Pleads Fox, ‘Pray don’t hurt our dear friend, he would not hurt Man, Woman, or Child. He can’t bear the sight of blood; as for plunder or deception, he is the determined enemy to both, by—— he is, and we are ready to swear it.’ Sheridan and Erskine say—the one, ‘d—n me if he ayn’t, and we are ready to swear it;’ the other, ‘I’ll swear it, I, I, I, swear it.’

‘John Bull taking a luncheon’ (Gillray, October 24, 1798) is an extremely graphic caricature, and introduces us to the popular idea of John Bull, who, certainly, is never represented in this period with any of the refinement that Leech, Doyle, Tenniel, or any of our modern caricaturists depict him; tastes and habits were coarser then than now, and John Bull was always shown in the rough. The second portion of the title of the picture helps us to realise the popular fancy, ‘or—British Cooks cramming old Grumble Gizzard with Bonne Chére.’ All his admirals and captains are bringing him food. Nelson presents him with a Fricasee à la Nelson, a huge dish of French ships; others are bearing dishes, such as Desert à la Warren, Fricando à la Howe, à la Gardner, à la Bridport, à la Vincent, Dutch Cheese à la Duncan.

John Bull is seated, devouring these viands, which are to be washed down with mighty draughts of True British Stout, exclaiming, ‘What! more Frigasees? why you sons o’ b——s, you, where do you think I shall find room to stow all you bring in?’ Fox and Sheridan are seen through an open window, running away, calling out, ‘Oh curse his Guts, he’ll take a chop at us next.’

There is another one with similar motif by Ansell, November 1, 1798.

The ‘destruction of the French Collossus’ (Gillray, November 1, 1798) is a painful picture. The huge creation strides from Egypt to France; its head being a skull, with vipers crawling in and out—its hands and feet being imbrued in blood; it clutches the guillotine, and tramples the Bible, Crucifix, and scales of Justice under foot. Round its neck is the bleeding head of Louis XVI. Britannia (typified by a shield of the national flag) hurls a thunderbolt, and shatters the huge statue into pieces.