Some five years previous to this event, about the month of June, 1800, a
circumstance occurred which created a great sensation in the town, and
occupied public attention in a most remarkable degree. It seems rather
out of chronological order to go back five years; but the reader who
favours me with his attention must be content to obtain my information as
I can impart it. My head is not so clear as it used to be in the
arrangement of such matters.
In the year mentioned there was a merchant established in Liverpool of
the name of Wainwright, who was one of the actors in what nearly proved
to be a tragedy. At a place called Tunstall, near Burslem, in
Staffordshire, resided an earthenware manufacturer named Theophilus
Smith. This Smith was in difficulties and his affairs were in much
disorder. His creditors were hostile to him, and he for some time had
been endeavouring to obtain a settlement with them. Amongst other
creditors was Mr. Wainwright. He, however, was not one of the hostile
party, but was very well-disposed towards Mr. Smith. One day, in the
month of June, Mr. Wainwright received an anonymous letter, requesting
him to meet the writer at a small public-house near the "Olympic Circus,"
which was a temporary place of amusement erected in Christian-street,
then beginning to be built upon (the Adelphi Theatre in Christian-street
succeeded the Circus--in fact, this place of amusement was called "the
Circus" for many years). Mr. Wainwright, on carefully examining the
letter, fancied he recognised Smith's handwriting, and resolved upon
keeping the appointment, supposing that Smith, fearing arrest, dared not
openly wait upon him. An arrest was an easy matter then. It was only
necessary to swear to a debt and take out a writ and you could arrest
anybody at a moment's notice, whether they actually owed you anything or
not. There used to be tough swearing in olden times. Mr. Wainwright
went to the house indicated and there, as he anticipated, found
Theophilus Smith. Mr. Wainwright concluded that Smith was about to make
some disclosures relative to his affairs and that was the reason he had
sent for him. But Smith only produced a printed statement of his
accounts, which had been previously circulated, and made no new discovery
of any consequence; he, however, most strongly and earnestly entreated
Mr. Wainwright to accompany him to Tunstall, where, he said, on the
following afternoon, his creditors would meet, and where Mr. Wainwright's
presence would be conducive to their coming to terms. Mr. Wainwright at
first refused to accede to this request, having important business of his
own to attend to, but Smith was so importunate that he at length
consented to accompany him, and they set out on the same afternoon in a
chaise and pair. On their way, Smith was very friendly with Mr.
Wainwright, and conversed with him as any man would with a friendly
traveller on a long journey. On arriving within a mile of his house at
Tunstall, Mr. Smith ordered the chaise to be stopped, and got out, and
requested Mr. Wainwright to do the same, saying that a mile could be
saved by walking across some fields adjacent. Mr. Smith at the time
expressed his dread of being arrested if he were seen on the road along
which the chaise would have to be driven. Mr. Wainwright, however,
declined to get out; stating it was quite unnecessary to take so much
precaution; but at length, in consequence of Smith's earnest entreaty, he
consented. They then proceeded across the fields on foot. As it was
commencing to rain, Mr. Smith pressed on Mr. Wainwright the use of his
cloak; but this Mr. Wainwright declined. Smith then led the way across
the fields, by a stile path, till they arrived at length at a small
thicket, through which they proceeded, when Smith stopped short, and said
he knew a nearer way. Smith then led Mr. Wainwright into a meadow, and
standing before him drew out a pistol. Mr. Wainwright immediately
concluded that his fellow-passenger intended to put an end to his own
life, and, after a sharp struggle, got the pistol from him, remonstrating
with him upon the wickedness of the act. Smith, however, drew another
pistol, and fired it at Mr. Wainwright, fortunately without effect. The
latter instantly sprang upon Mr. Smith and got him down, uttering loud
cries for assistance. Smith begged hard for mercy, and on promising not
to repeat his murderous attack, was allowed to get up. He was no sooner
released and on his legs than he drew a third pistol, fired, and hit Mr.
Wainwright in the body. The men again closed, when Smith drew a knife
and made several attempts upon his companion's life by attempting to cut
his throat, which was fortunately well protected by the thick rolls of
cambric it was then the custom to tie round the neck, as well as by a
thick scarf, which was cut through in several places. Mr. Wainwright,
however, never left hold of Smith until they reached his house when, the
door suddenly opening, he rushed in and quickly closed it. He then came
to the window and ordered Mr. Wainwright away, refusing him shelter,
although it was growing dark and raining heavily. Mr. Wainwright
contrived to crawl to a cottage, where he was laid up for some time, but
eventually recovered from the cuts and wounds inflicted upon him. Smith
absconded, and a reward of 50 pounds was offered for his capture. This
was effected after some time in Pall Mall, London, by two Bow-street
runners. Smith was committed for trial at Stafford assizes, where he was
found guilty and sentenced to be hung. He, however, escaped that
punishment by destroying both himself and his wife in his cell in
Stafford gaol, while awaiting his sentence. What Smith's motive could be
for his conduct no one could conjecture. He would give no explanation on
the subject though pressed to do so. It was supposed that a sudden fit
of insanity had seized him, and that his violence was the result of it.
During the journey the two gentlemen were on the most friendly terms,
taking their meals together and acting as travellers thrown together
usually do. Mr. Wainwright's presence was most essential to Smith to
allay the hostility of his creditors, and therefore, the attempts to make
away with him were still more incomprehensible.
As I sit by my fire-side with two or three old friends--friends, indeed,
for I have known them all for fifty, sixty, and seventy years--we talk
over old times, faces, scenes and places, in a way that calls up the
ghosts of the past to our dim eyes. If my readers could listen to our
stories of the old town they would hear more about it in a night than my
little amanuensis could write down in a day. Many curious anecdotes and
circumstances are called to remembrance by us, and I must say we talk of
old times with a regretful yet pleasant feeling. I know I often startle
some of my young friends by telling them of scenes I have witnessed in
the last century, and I have often noticed them in their minds putting
one year and another together, or subtracting one from another so that
they might ascertain whether I was telling the truth or not.
I don't believe there is another man in Liverpool alive at this time who
saw the Town Hall on fire in 1795. I saw it, I may say, almost break
out, for I was in Castle-street in ten minutes after the alarm had spread
through the town, and that was soon done, for Liverpool was not of the
extent it is now. I believe half the inhabitants turned out into the
streets to witness that awful sight, although it was at five o'clock on a
frosty Sunday morning in January. For my part, I was aroused by the
continuous springing of rattles by the watchmen, and the rushing sounds
of people running along the street. I was soon out of bed and joined the
throng of people who were hurrying to the scene of disaster. When I
arrived there, a crowd had already assembled. Castle-street was then
very narrow. It was quite choked up with people. Dale-street was
beginning to be crowded while High-street and Water-street were quite
impassable. From the windows of all the houses the terrified inmates
were to be observed _en dishabille_, and the large inn in Water-street,
the Talbot, which was nearly opposite the Town Hall, had people looking
out at every window.
The smoke first made its appearance at the lower windows of the Town
Hall. The doors having been forced, a party of men got into the interior
of the building, and brought out for safety the books of the various
departments, and some of the town's officers having arrived, something
like system took the place of the dreadful confusion which prevailed.
The town records, the treasurer's accounts, and the muniments, etc., were
safely removed to a house at the end of High-street. I helped to keep
order. Assisted by many other volunteers for the work we formed a lane
so that there should be no impediment to a quick removal of anything that
was portable. The fire was first discovered about five o'clock in the
morning by the watchman on duty in the street. They were dull old
fellows, those watchmen, and of but little use, for in calling the hour
nine times out of ten they made a mistake. The thieves laughed them to
scorn. When the watchman saw smoke issuing from the windows he gave the
alarm without delay. The fire soon showed itself, when it had once got
ahead. When the new Exchange was erected, after the former one had been
taken down in 1748, somebody persuaded the authorities to have the
woodwork and timber of the new building steeped in a composition of rosin
and turpentine, so as to make the wood more durable. It may therefore be
readily imagined how inflammable such a composition would make the wood,
and how fiercely it burned when once ignited. There had been a
perceptible odour of some sort experienced in the Exchange building for
some days, and this was afterwards discovered to have arisen from the
woodwork under the council-chamber having taken fire through a flue
communicating from the Loan-office; and there is no doubt it had been
smouldering for days before it actually made its appearance. It could
not have been ten minutes after I arrived on the spot before the flames
burst out in all their fury. It was an awfully grand sight. It was yet
dark. What with the rushing and pushing of the anxious crowd, the
roaring of the fierce flames, and the calling of distracted people, it
was an event and scene never to be forgotten. The building was soon all
in a blaze, and nothing on earth could have stopped that frightful
conflagration. It was a mercy it was a calm frosty morning or the houses
in the four streets adjacent must have caught the flame. From the age of
these houses, the quantity of timber in them, the narrowness of the
streets, and the absence of a copious supply of water, I am sure
Liverpool would have been half consumed if a wind had sprung up. I
thought the building looked like a great funeral pile as the flames
roared out on all sides. It was a grand, yet dreadful sight. The whole
of Castle-street was occupied by people, although, from the position of
the Exchange, a full front view could not be obtained, it being almost
parallel with the west side of Castle-street. The best view of it was
where I stood at the top of Dale-street, by Moss's bank. The dome, being
constructed of wood, soon took fire, was burnt, and fell in. We had not
then as now powerful engines, long reels of hose, and bands of active men
well trained to their arduous and dangerous duties, still, everybody did
his best and seemed desirous of doing something. We did that something
with a will, but without much order, system, or discretion. The engines
in use were not powerful, and the supply of water was not only tardy but
scanty, as you may believe when I tell you it had to be brought from the
town wells, the Dye-house Well in Greetham-street, the Old Fall Well in
Rose-street (where Alderman's Bennett's ironwork warehouse stands, near
the corner of Rose-street--by the way, Rose-street was called after Mr.
Rose, who lived in the house next the Stork Hotel), and the wells on
Shaw's-brow; indeed, every possible source where water could be obtained,
was put in requisition. The inhabitants allowed the rain-water to be
taken from their water-butts in the vicinity to such liberal extent that
I verily believe there was not a drop of rain-water to be got for love or
money when that eventful day was out. Staid housewives for many a day
after complained of the dirt the trampling of feet had made in their
lobbies and yards, and deplored the loss of their stores of soft-water.
At that time water was precious, every drop that could be obtained was
saved, garnered, and carefully kept. Every drop of hard-water we
consumed had to be brought to our doors and paid for by the "Hessian" or
bucket. The water-carts were old butts upon wheels, drawn by sorry
horses and driven by fat old creatures, half men half women in their
attire and manners. The buckets were made of leather and the water was
sold at a halfpenny per Hessian. They were so called, I believe, from
their fancied resemblance to the Hessian boots. You may judge how
inadequate a supply of water we had when our wants were dependent upon
such aid. The water-carts came rumbling and tumbling along the streets,
in many cases losing one-half of their loads by the unusual speed at
which they were driven and the awkwardness of their drivers. Water was
also carted from the river, and I helped with others to push the carts up
Water-street. The steep ascent of this street in its badly paved
condition made this work extremely laborious. But everybody helped and
did what they could, and those who did nothing made up for deeds by words
and shouted and bawled and told the others what they ought to do.
Fortunately, only one life was lost, that of a fool-hardy young man who
would press forward to see the fire better--he rushed up to the
High-street door and a piece of timber fell on him. The surging of the
crowd caused several persons to be struck down and trampled upon. I
saved one woman's life by beating off the people who would have crushed
her. By twelve o'clock the fire had slackened considerably, and by the
evening it was to all appearance subdued. But the fire in the interior
remained smouldering for some time afterwards. In the churches on that
day the event was alluded to in a very feeling manner, and in St. Peter's
Church the rector offered up a prayer of thanksgiving that the town had
been spared from a more extensive calamity.
At this time High-street (there was a famous tavern called the
"Punch-Bowl" in this street) was the communication between Castle-street
and Old Hall-street, and it is a most strange circumstance that the
direct line of road was not retained instead of cutting the new street
called Exchange-street East through the houses and gardens between
Tithebarn-street and Dale-street. It was a great mistake, and everybody
said so at the time. Many great mistakes have been made in respect to
our streets and public buildings, not the least of which was the blunder
of filling up the Old Dock, and erecting that huge and ugly edifice, the
Custom-house, thereon.
I believe if the conflagration had extended from the Exchange to some
distance in the adjoining streets, we should have had some vast
improvements effected. From the narrowness of Castle-street may be
imagined what a scene of confusion it must have been during the fire. It
is quite a wonder that many lives were not lost during that morning of
terror. The inhabitants of the four streets in many cases prepared for
flight, for the fire raged so fiercely at one time that the escape of the
houses in the vicinity from destruction seemed miraculous. While I was
helping to draw water from the yard of some people I knew in
Castle-street, a burning ember or piece of timber fell into a lot of
dirty paper which would in five minutes have been alight if I had not
been there to extinguish it. There were many such wonderful escapes
recorded.
The trial of Mr. Charles Angus for the alleged murder of Miss Margaret
Burns (who was his late wife's half-sister) in 1808, may be considered as
one of the _causes celebres_ of the time. It took place at Lancaster, on
the 2nd of September, before Sir Alan Chambre. Sergeant Cockle, and
Messrs. Holroyd, Raine and Clark, were for the Crown; Mr. T. Statham,
attorney. Messrs. Topping, Scarlett, and Cross for the prisoner; Mr.
Atkinson, attorney. Mr. Angus was a gentleman of Scotch birth, and
resided in Liverpool--in King-street, I think. He had been at one time
an assistant to a druggist, where he was supposed to have obtained a
knowledge of the properties of poisons, and he was charged with putting
this knowledge to account in attempting to produce abortion in the case
of Miss Burns, who was suspected of being pregnant by him, and thereby
causing her death. Miss Burns was Mr. Angus's housekeeper, and governess
to his three children. The case rested entirely on circumstantial
evidence, made out against the prisoner by his conduct previous to the
supposed commission of the deed, by his conduct at the time and
afterwards. At the time the strongest prejudice ran against Mr. Angus,
and it must be said that the public were not satisfied with the verdict
of the jury; but at this distance of time, those who had an opportunity
of looking over the evidence, and remembering the case in all its
bearings, will at once say dispassionately that there was not a shadow of
evidence against Mr. Angus. Miss Burns, who had been unwell for some
time, was noticed previous to the 23rd of March, 1808, to be ailing, and
that her size had materially enlarged; and it was suspected, as adduced
by several witnesses, that she was _enceinte_. On the 23rd of March she
complained of being very unwell, and went to lie down on a sofa in the
breakfast-room where she remained the whole of the day, thirsting and
vomiting. Mr. Angus would not allow his servants to sit up with Miss
Burns, but remained in the room with her the whole of that night, the
next day, and the following night. On the 25th Miss Burns said she felt
better. A servant on that morning was sent to Henry-street for some
Madeira that Miss Burns fancied. On her return, not seeing the lady on
the sofa, where an hour previous she had left her, she looked round the
room and discovered her doubled up in a corner of the room with her face
towards the wainscot, while Mr. Angus was asleep sitting in a chair
covered by a counterpane. The evidence was most conflicting. Several
witnesses declared Miss Burns was not pregnant, others that they believed
she was. The medical evidence was also of a most bewildering and diverse
nature. Some of the most eminent surgeons in Liverpool were examined,
and none of them agreed on the case. This fact came out that no signs of
childbirth were visible as having taken place--no dead infant was
discovered. The room in which Miss Burns and Mr. Angus were, was at all
times accessible to the servants, and no cries of parturition were heard
during the lady's illness. The fact of the matter was, Miss Burns had
suffered from an internal complaint, and died from natural causes. This
was shown by Dr. Carson, then a young and rising physician at the time,
and who afterwards published a pamphlet in which he utterly demolished
the medical evidence given at the trial for the crown.
The jury, after a few minutes' deliberation, returned a verdict, finding
the prisoner "Not Guilty," on grounds as unimpeachable as the trial. In
some of the circumstances attending and resulting from it, it was
disgraceful, especially on the part of the medical witnesses for the
crown, in their conduct towards the one for the defence--Dr. Carson. I
have before me an authentic "Report of the Trial," "A Vindication of
their Opinions," published by those witnesses, and Dr. Carson's "Remarks"
on that publication, in which he exposes their shortcomings with a
master's hand, in a style as terse as it is bold, and as elegant as it is
severe; never were the weapons of irony, satire, and invective more
effectively used; his impeachment is as withering as his victory at the
trial was complete. The authors of the "Vindications" had not only done
what in them lay to ruin him in every conceivable way, public and
private, but they had exposed themselves to his "Remarks," all-pungent as
they were, by going into court and giving opinions founded upon "the most
disgracefully deficient dissection ever made." The sore which they had
inflicted upon themselves at the trial did not heal under the caustic of
the "Remarks"; and so the doctor became a victim to local prejudice,
passion, and persecution. But he gained to himself a world-wide
reputation which outlived them all; the honours of the French Academy
were bestowed upon him, and he took his stand among the literary and
scientific magnates of the day. As to the trial, the theory of the
prosecution was that the prisoner caused the lady's death by
administering a poison to procure abortion, and it was based upon a hole
in the coats of the stomach, and a peculiar mark in the uterus; the
medical witnesses for the crown affirming that the former could not have
arisen from any other known cause than poison, and the latter a sure sign
of recent delivery. No poison was found in the stomach or intestines,
nor were the supposed contents of the uterus ever found, and no other
part of the body was examined. The hole in the stomach presented the
same appearance, and was described in the same terms as those which John
Hunter had called attention to as occurring in certain cases of sudden
death, where there was no suspicion of poisoning, and caused by the
action of the gastric juice. Doctor Carson accepted Hunter's facts, but
propounded a theory of his own, being guided to his conclusions by the
experiments of Sir John Pringle and Dr. Bride, in reference to water at
the temperature of 90 degrees dissolving animal substances. He
successfully combated the notion about poisoning from another point of
view, namely, the symptoms during life, the comparative mildness of which
did not correspond with the usual effects of the poison fixed upon. As
to the mark in the uterus, he gave his opinion that it might have arisen
from other causes than the one alleged; two phenomena were absent, and
upon this fact he asserted it to be physically impossible that there
could have been a recent delivery; and, moreover, in his "Remarks," he
proved mathematically that the mark was four times the size it ought to
have been on that hypothesis. Miss Burns had not been attended
professionally by any one as she was averse to doctors. Mr. Angus in his
defence ascribed the whole of the legal proceedings against him to the
malevolence of two interested parties, and had it not now been for their
influence, the circumstance of Miss Burns' death would have passed over
without remark. Mr. Angus, so far from desiring to harm Miss Burns,
expressed himself as deeply indebted to her for her care of his children
and the affection and attention to his comforts she had always
manifested, and emphatically declared he "loved and respected her too
well to dream of doing her any harm."