Smollett, Galt, Marryatt, and the other naval novelists, not those well-nigh forgotten Dry-as-dusts whose works encumber the back shelves of our law libraries, are the authorities for the press-gang of popular imagination. The sea-port invaded, the house surrounded at dead of night by man-o'-war's men with stout cudgels, and by naval officers with cutlasses; the able-bodied mariner knocked down first and then bid stand in the king's name; the official shilling thrust into his reluctant palm before he is hauled off in irons—who has not devoured with joy this wild romance, with its tang of the sea, its humour and rough frolic, the daring and exciting prelude to much more daring and more exciting achievements? But how far can we trust these entertaining authors? And what was the legal status of the press-gang?

We are like to get nearest the truth in a law case with its official documents and sifted evidence and considered decision. The trial of one Alexander Broadfoot for the murder of one Calahan is the best available. In the April of 1774 H.M.S. Mortar lay at anchor off Bristol. The captain held a warrant of impressment, but he could delegate his authority only to a commissioned officer, whose name must be inserted in his order; and the only one aboard was the lieutenant. On the 25th the ship's boat was sent down Channel, with neither captain nor lieutenant to look for men. She had no luck till evening, when she came across the Bremen Factor, a homeward bound merchantman, still some leagues from port, but beating thitherward up Channel. The man-o'-war's men having boarded her, were proceeding to search the hold, when they were confronted by Broadfoot, the boatswain, armed to the teeth. He demanded what they came for. "For you and your comrades," was the plain and honest, though no doubt irritating answer. "Keep back, I have a blunderbuss loaded with swan shot," said Broadfoot, levelling his piece. The press-gang stopped. "Where is your lieutenant?" he went on. (Evidently this boatswain knew a little of the law.) "He is not far off," was the evasive answer, showing that the man's acts and words had impressed his assailants. Did Broadfoot grasp the fact that they were trespassers? At any rate, he let fly, killed Calahan on the spot, and wounded two others. He was tried at Bristol, and acquitted of the capital charge—for the action of the man-o'-war's men was plainly irregular; but he was found guilty of manslaughter, for that he had used more force than was necessary. Another case is that of Robert Goldswain, a small freeholder at Marlow, in Bucks. In the March of 1778 he was a bargeman on the Thames, engaged in carrying timber to the king's yard; with a protection order from the Navy Board to him by name so long as he should continue in that service. But these were troubled times, the French had just declared for the revolted American colonists and our war-ships were frightfully undermanned; so, on the 16th of March, the Admiralty fixed the next night for a general press on the Thames, with direction to seize—despite protection orders—on all sailors and watermen whatsoever, saving and excepting merchant skippers and men exempted by special acts. Goldswain was in the net, and was passed from ship to ship down to the Nore, where his captors were overtaken by an order from the Court requiring a return to a writ of Habeas Corpus issued on his behalf. Counsel's argument for the Admiralty—that the device of first issuing protection orders to lure sea and watering men from their lurking-places, and then pouncing on them under the authority of a general press, was excellent—did not commend itself to the Court, which, in the battle over poor Goldswain's body, suspected some antagonism between the Admiralty and the Naval Board. In the end my lords gave way, and Marlow received again her ravished freeholder.

During the strain and stress of our eighteenth century war-making, when we had every need of seamen to man our battle-ships, and could not afford the market price for them, there was much impressment, and through frequent appeals to the courts the law on the subject was exactly determined. It was a prerogative of the Crown, a remnant of larger rights which at one time took in soldiers and ships, or their equivalent in cash (Hampden's famous trial scarce needs mention); it could not be justified (it was allowed) by reason, but only by public necessity. On command of the king all sea and river-faring men were liable to naval service in time of war. The right to impress was founded on immemorial usage, for, though given by no statute, it was recognised by many. It was so held on the authority of a case in Queen Elizabeth's reign: the sole customary exception was a ferryman; but merchant captains were in practice likewise allowed to go free. Only in Charles I.'s reign, when all the Crown prerogatives were jealously overhauled, was there any serious questioning of its legality, but it was exercised by the Commonwealth as well as by the Monarchy. Given up in fact some fifty years since, it has never been so in law. You find in Horner's Crown Practice (1844) a form of Habeas Corpus ad subjiciendum for impressed men, with the comment that it is little needed now.

Of the enormous number of commissions and statutes relating to impressment, an example taken here and there must suffice. The acts express amazement and virtuous indignation at mariners unwilling to serve. One (temp. Henry VII.) sets forth that such as are chosen, and have received their wages, shall, if they give leg-bail, be amerced in double, and go to prison for a year—when they are caught. Another (temp. Philip and Mary) reproves the Thames watermen who, in pressing time, "do willingly and obstinately withdraw, hide, and convey themselves into secret places and outcovers; and, after the said time of pressing is o'erpassed, return to their employments." After the Revolution an attempt was made to establish a naval reserve by means of a voluntary register, and so do away with impressment, but this was a complete failure. Then, to foster the coal and other trades, certain exceptions were granted; and still later, sailors in outward bound merchantmen were exempted because of the hardship inflicted on their employers (the hardship of the sailor impressed in sight of port after a long voyage was not considered). When a warship fell in with a merchantman on the high seas she impressed what men she would. British sailors found on board American vessels were hauled out forthwith, and this was one cause of the War of 1812.

Press-gang stories, more or less authentic, are numerous. Here are samples which serve to show that the searchers did not nicely discriminate between those who were and were not legally subject to impressment. A well-dressed man was seized. He protested that he was a gentleman of position. "The very boy we want," gleefully replied his captors; "for we've such a set of topping blackguards aboard the tender, that we wanted a gentleman to teach 'em manners." Sham press-gangs for the black-mailing of honest citizens were common. In one case a couple had given all their money to go free, when the real gang coming up made booty of both parties, and had them aboard in no time. The quarrymen at Denny Bowl, sixty strong, were heard to brag in their cups what they would do did the press-gang dare to molest them, whereupon "three merry girls" got into breeches, put cockades in their hats, took sword and pistol, and advanced, when the quarrymen ran like hares. And to conclude, there is the legend of the gang that raided "The Cock and Rummer" in Bow Street. They seized the cook. The customers, fearing for their dinner, or themselves, rushed to the rescue. Long the strife hung dubious, when the constable (he ought to have been a Bow Street runner) stalked in. The gang, with a fine sense of humour, let the cook go, seized him, and away at a great rate, though not fast enough to get clear.