Miss Kemble was mistaken in stating Mr. Huskisson after his accident was
removed to Manchester. He was conveyed to the vicarage, at Eccles, near
Manchester. Of the vicar’s wife, Dean Stanley’s mother thus writes,
(January 17, 1832,):—“There is one person who interests me very much,
Mrs. Tom Blackburne, the Vicaress of Eccles, who received poor Mr.
Huskisson, and immortalised herself by her activity, sense, and conduct
throughout.” A writer in the _Cornhill Magazine_, for March, 1884,
referring to the opening of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway,
remarks:—“In celebration of this experiment, for even then most people
only looked upon it as a doubtful thing, the houses of the adjacent parts
of Lancashire were filled with guests. Mr. John Blackburne, M.P., asked
his brother and sister-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Blackburne, to stay at
Hale Hall, near Liverpool, (which his ancestors in the direct line had
possessed since 1199,) and to go with his party to the ceremony and fetes
of the day.
The invitation was accepted, and Mr. and Mrs. Blackburne went to Hale.
Now, however, occurred one of those strange circumstances utterly
condemned by critics of fiction as ‘unreal,’ ‘unnatural,’ or
‘impossible;’ only in this case it happened to be true, in spite of all
these epithets. Mrs. Blackburne, rather strong-minded than otherwise, at
all events one of the last women in the world to be affected by
imagination, became possessed by an unmistakable presentiment, which made
her feel quite sure _that her presence was required at home_; _and she
went home at once_. There were difficulties in her way; every carriage
was required, but she would go. She drove to Warrington, and from thence
‘took boat’ up the Irwell to Eccles. Canal boats were then regular
conveyances, divided into first and second classes. There were no mobs
or excitement anywhere on the 14th, and Mrs. Blackburne got quickly to
Eccles without any adventures. When there, except that one of her
children was unwell, she could find nothing wrong, or in the least likely
to account for the presentiment which had driven her home in spite of all
the natural enough, ridicule of her husband and friends at Hale.
Early on the morning of the 15th, an incident occurred, the narration of
which may throw some light on the temper of the times. Mr. Barton, of
Swinton, came to say that a mob was expected to come from Oldham to
attack the Duke of Wellington, then at the height of his unpopularity
among the masses; for just by Eccles three miles of the line was left
unguarded, ‘Could Mr. Blackburne say what was to be done?’
‘My husband is away,’ said the Vicaress, ‘but I know that about fifty
special constables were out last year, the very men for this work, if
their licenses have not expired.’
‘Never mind licenses,’ replied Mr. Barton, with a superb indifference to
form, quite natural under the circumstances. ‘Where can I find the men?’
‘Oh,’ replied Mrs. Blackburne, ‘I can get the men for you.’
Mr. Barton hesitated, but soon with gratitude accepted the offer, and
with the help of the churchwardens and constables ‘a guard for the Duke’
was soon collected on the bridge of Eccles, armed with staves and clubs
to be dispersed along the line.
This done, she had a tent put up for herself and children, with whom were
Lord Wilton’s little daughters, the Ladies Elizabeth and Katherine
Egerton, and their governess. The tent was just above the cutting and
looked down on to it, and they would have a good view of the first train,
expected to pass about eleven o’clock. The morning wore on, the crowds
were increasing, and low murmurs of wonder were heard. It was thought
that the experiment had failed. A few of the villagers came into the
field, but none troubled the little band of watchers. The bright
sunshine had passed away, and it had become dark, with large hot drops of
rain, forerunners of a coming thunderstorm. The people lined the whole
of the way from Manchester to Liverpool, and, as far as the eye could
reach, faces were seen anxiously looking towards Liverpool. Suddenly a
strange roar was heard from the crowd, not a cheer of triumph, but a
prolonged wail, beginning at the furthest point of travelling along the
swarming banks like the incoming swirl of a breaker as it runs upon a
gravelled beach.
Like a true woman, her first thought was for her husband, as Mrs.
Blackburne heard the words repeated on all sides, ‘An accident!’ ‘The
Vicarage!’ She flew across the field to the gate and met a sad
procession bringing in a sorely-wounded yet quite conscious man. She saw
in a moment that he had medals on his coat, and had been very tall, so
that it could not be as she feared. The relief of that moment may be
imagined. Then the quiet presence of mind, by practice habitual to her,
and the ready flow of sympathy left her no time to think of anything but
the sufferer, who said to her pathetically, ‘I shall not trouble you
long!’ She had not only the will but the power to help, even to
supplying from her own medicine chest and stores, kept for the poor,
everything that the surgeons required.
It was Lord Wilton who suggested the removal of Mr. Huskisson to Eccles
Vicarage and improvised a tourniquet on the spot, while soon the medical
men who were in the train did what they could for him. Mr. Blackburne,
as will be remembered, was not with his wife, and only the presentiment
which had brought Mrs. Blackburne home had given the means of so readily
and quickly obtaining surgical necessaries and rest. Mr. Blackburne,
writing to his mother-in-law the day after this accident, referring to
Mr. Huskisson, remarks:—“To the last he retained his senses. Lord
Granville says when the dying man heard Wilton propose to take him to
this house he exclaimed, ‘Pray take me there; there I shall indeed be
taken care of.’
But fancy my horror! _Not one word did I know of his being here till I
had passed the place_, _and was literally eating my luncheon at
Manchester_! In vain did I try to get a conveyance, till at last the
Duke of Wellington sent to me and ordered his car to start, and I came
with him back, he intending to come here; but the crowd was so _immense_
that the police dared not let him get out. To be sure, when my people on
the bridge saw me standing with him, they did shout, ‘That’s as it should
be—Vicar for us!’ He said, ‘These people seem to know you well.’
_Entre nous_, at the door I met my love, and after a good cry (I don’t
know which was the greatest fool!) set to work. The poor fellow was glad
to see me, and never shall I forget the scene, his poor wife holding his
head, and the great men weeping, for they all wept! He then received the
Sacrament, added some codocils to his will, and seemed perfectly
resigned. But his agonies were dreadful! Ransome says they must have
been so. He expired at nine. We never left him till he breathed his
last. Poor woman! How she lamented his loss; yet her struggles to bear
with fortitude are wonderful. I wish you could have heard him exclaim,
after my petition ‘Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive . . . ’ ‘I
have not the smallest ill-will to any one person in the whole world.’
They stay here until Saturday, when they begin the sad journey to convey
him to Sussex. They wanted to bury him at Liverpool, but she refused. I
forgot to tell you that he told Lawrence before starting that he _wished
he were safe back_.”
Mr. Huskisson was not buried at Chichester, for at last Mrs. Huskisson
consented to the popular wish that his body might have a public funeral
at Liverpool, where a statue of him by Gibson now stands in the
cemetery.”