CHAPTER XV
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CHESTER MARKET.—THE TOWN COMMON.—RACE-COURSE.—THE YEOMANRY CAVALRY, AND THE MILITIA OF ENGLAND.—PUBLIC WASH-HOUSE.—“MR. CHAIRMAN.”
The day after we came to Chester was market-day, and the streets were busy at an early hour with people coming in from the country to sell produce or purchase the supplies for their families for the coming week. The quantity of butter exposed for sale was very large, and the quality excellent. The fish-market also was finely supplied. The dealing in both these articles was mostly done by women.[12]
[12] We noted the following as the common prices:—
Butchers’ meat, 10 to 14 cents per lb. Best fresh butter in balls of 1½ lbs., 35 cents. Salmon, fresh from the Dee, 35 cents per lb. Turbot, 35 cents per lb. Soles and other fish, 16 cents per lb.
[Sidenote: _MILITIA SYSTEM OF ENGLAND._]
After walking through the market we went to the Roodee, and there saw the yeomanry reviewed. They wore a snug blue uniform, were armed with sabres, carbines, and pistols, and were rather better mounted and drilled than any of our mounted militia that I have seen. The active commander seemed to be a regular martinet. If the lines got much out of dress while on the trot, he would dash up, shaking his fist, and loudly cursing the squadron at fault. I noticed, also, that when pleased he sometimes addressed them in the ranks as “gentlemen.” He was probably some old army officer, engaged to drill them.
A young man in the dress of an officer, but dismounted, said, in answer to our inquiries, that their number was 800, in five companies. Most of them were farmers, every farmer of a certain age in the county (as we understood him) being obliged to serve three years, but allowed to send a substitute if he chooses, and sometimes is represented by his servant. They are out but once a year for training, and then for eight days, and while engaged receive 75 cents a day. They can not be ordered out of the country, and are never called into any active service, except to quell riots.
I frequently asked afterwards for more information about the yeomanry, but never of a person that seemed to know much about them. A man in the ranks of the Denbighshire yeomanry told us the service was optional. In some counties there is no such body, and the organization, laws, and customs of it seem to vary in the different regiments. There is a regular foot-militia organization throughout England (the “train bands”), but none of them, I believe, have been paraded for many years.
According to a parliamentary return of 1838, there were then of the mounted yeomanry, 251 troops and 13,594 privates; the annual expense of maintaining them was $525,000. The enrolled militia of England in 1838 numbered 200,000 men. The officers of these forces, when in service, _rank_ with those of the army of the same grade. A part of the uniform and mountings of the yeomanry are paid for by the government, and some small daily compensation is allowed the privates when in service. A drill-sergeant and a trumpeter is also permanently attached to each troop, with a salary from the state.
NAPIER mentions that the greater part of the 16,000 British troops who gained the battle of Talavera were men drafted from the militia at home, and that they had but very recently joined the army in Spain.
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Coming up from the Roodee, we visited the castle. It is of no importance in a military way, except as a depôt. There are 30,000 stand of arms, and a large quantity of gunpowder stored in it. It is garrisoned by an Irish regiment at present, which, as well as the yeomanry, has a very good band of music, by which the town benefits.
[Sidenote: _PUBLIC WASHHOUSE.—MODERATE DRINKER._]
We afterwards visited the public baths and wash-house. In its basement there are twenty square tubs, each with hot and cold water cocks, wash-board, and pounder, a drying-closet heated by steam to 212° F., &c. In the first story are the usual private baths, and a swimming tank or public bath, having a constant influx of fresh water by a jet from below, and an overflow. It is 45 by 36 feet, 2½ feet deep at one end, 6 at the other, contains 36,000 gallons, and is furnished with swings, diving-stage, life-buoys, &c. It was built by a committee of the citizens, and bought by the town very soon after it went into operation. The whole cost was $10,000, most of which was raised by a stock subscription. The water is supplied from the canal, and is all filtered—the cost of the filtering machine being $200. The principal items of current expenses are fuel and salaries. The cost of coal (very low here) is $5 a week. There are four persons constantly employed in the establishment, viz., superintendent and wife, who are paid $10 a week, and receive something besides as perquisites (supplying bathing-dresses, for instance, at a small charge); the bath-attendant, and the fireman, who each have $7.50 a week. Total salaries $25 a week. The charges for the use of the clothes-washing conveniences is about one cent an hour. For the baths it varies from two to twenty-five cents, select hours being appointed for those who choose, by paying a larger sum, to avoid a crowd. There are also commutations by the year at lower rates: boys, for instance, have a yearly ticket for a little over a dollar. During the first year it has something more than paid expenses. The number of bathers the last week (in May) was over one thousand. I mention these statistics, as this establishment is rather smaller than most of the kind, and they may serve the projectors of a similar one in some of our smaller cities.
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We had had at breakfast the company of a little, fat dignified person, whose talk much amused us by its likeness to that of some of Dickens’ characters. On returning to the inn at noon, we found sitting with him a cadaverous-faced man, with long hair, and very seedy clothes, who seemed from his expressions to be an artist. Beer had just been brought into them as we entered, but the painter after taking a long draught, mildly suggested that “something stronger might facilitate business.” The fussy man replied that he never took any thing but malt liquors before dinner. The artist said that he required something more. “I haven’t had any thing but beer this morning, except a couple of glasses of brandy, and a little go o’rum with a dab of butter and sugar in it.” Here he looked at me with a smile and a nod, that invited my good fellowship, and I ventured to ask how much beer he might have had besides that. “Not more than half a dozen glasses, sir.” “Really, I should have supposed that would be drink enough for half a day.” “Not for a man like me; I have drank thirty-six glasses—half pints—of strong Welsh ale in a day, and all the better of it.” The stout man said he never drank over a dozen, or at the highest, fifteen, in a day, and never, except in peculiar circumstances, took spirits before dinner; after dinner he would go as far as any body. He often had to preside at public dinners, and though of course, he then, for the sake of example, had to drink more than any one else, he always kept on his seat as long as there was any one to drink with him, “as you very well know, sir,” he added, appealing to the artist. “Undoubtedly, Mr. Chairman,” the latter replied, “_un_doubtedly, sir.”
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