Exeter, Hugh Bexwyke, Ralph Hulme, and Joan Bexwyke, and in what
respective proportion the institution is due to these worthies may be a
matter of doubt. For the endowment of the school they purchased, for a
“valuable consideration,” the amount of which is not stated, the lands,
rents, and services of the Manchester Corn Mills and all their tolls.
Lord La Warr, in thus parting with the ancient soke mills of his manor,
merely retained a chief rent, which was then fixed at £9 13s. 4d. The
transfer of the mill from the wardens of the college to an independent
body of feoffees is set forth in a deed which was executed in 1525, and
in which Hugh Bexwyke, clerk, and Joan Bexwyke, widow, state that
Thomas West, Knt., Lord La Warr, “did give grant and confirm to them
and to Ralph Hulme, deceased, all his lands and tenements, rents,
reversions, and services of his water corn mills, called Manchester
Mills, situate and being in the town of Manchester, upon the water or
rivulet of Irke, running and flowing from and in the town of Manchester
and the precincts of the same as far as the water or river of Irwell,
flowing between the town of Manchester and the town of Salford, and
also of all the tolls soken of the aforesaid mills of all the tenants
of the said Lord La Warr in Manchester, and of his sojourners of the
same, and of all other residents there.” Further, the same Thomas, Lord
La Warr did give, grant, and confirm to them his “fulling mill there,
called a walke millne, situate, standing, and being upon the said
rivulet or water called Irke; and also his close of land, with its
appurtenances, called Walker’s Croft; and also Thomas, Lord La Warr in
like manner did give, grant, and confirm to them the aforesaid water or
rivulet of Irke, and its free fishery, from a place called Asshelle
Lawne as far as the said water or river called Irwell, and also all his
lands and tenements adjacent and adjoining, without the several closes
and burgage on each side of the same water or rivulet called Irke,
flowing in the said town of Manchester, from the place called Asshelle
Lawne, into the said river of Irwell.” And farther, the same Thomas,
Lord La Warr did give, grant, and confirm to them “full power and
authority, and right of making, setting-up, fixing, and attaching mills
or messuages, and so many and such weirs, floodgates, and fastenings,
to both sides of the same water or rivulet, called Irke, and upon,
through, and across the same water, in any places whatsoever, from the
said place, called Asshelle Lawne, unto the said water or river of
Irwell,” as they or their heirs and assigns should think to be
expedient or beneficial for their greater profit or advantage. Lord La
Warr also conveyed to the purchasers by the same deed some fulling
mills in Ancoats, where there are various evidences of the early
practice of textile industries. The value of the Manchester Mills when
they were first bought as an endowment for the school was estimated at
£47 10s. per annum. Lord La Warr promised that no more mills should be
erected within or about the manor of Manchester, and thus ensured to
the schools the monopoly of the grinding of the corn and malt for the
town. The restraint was probably felt to be injurious at a
comparatively early period. In 1556 those who evaded this toll were
threatened with amercement, and apparently continued to be undeterred
by such threats, for in 1561 it was ordered that “in future” they
should forfeit twenty shillings. In 1592 the feoffees had to guard
their monopoly against the attack of Anthony Travis, who erected “a
horse mill within the town.” The Duchy Court of Lancaster upheld the
rights of the monopolists, and actually prohibited the use within the
town of even a hand mill or quern mill for the grinding of either corn
or malt. If, however, the grain lay at the mill for twenty-four hours
unground the owner might take it away to some other mill. In 1608 a
horse mill was ordered to be destroyed. During the Commonwealth the
people of the town had freedom in this matter, and they used it so that
the revenues of the school began to diminish very rapidly. An order of
Parliament was obtained in 1647, and the mills were then leased to Mr.
John Hartley for £130 per annum. The new lessee established his right
against two hardy individuals who had set up a common brewhouse in the
college, which they contended owed no suit or service to the School
Mills. The decision went against them. In 1701 some persons who had
erected mills in Salford were prosecuted for having customers who ought
to have ground at the Manchester Mills. They were ordered not to
receive any corn or malt for grinding from any of the inhabitants of
Manchester. In 1728 some persons who had erected a brewhouse in Salford
and sold ale and beer to the burgesses of Manchester were required
“under pain of forfeiting £100 to have all their corn and malt that
should be spent ground in their houses at the School Mills.” The
farmers of the mill at this time made an attempt to obtain a judgment
that should include oats, which had not been ground at the School Mills
for two generations. The Judges, however, insisted that an issue ought
to be directed for trying the custom at common law. This the farmers
did not think expedient, and so they dropped the suit and paid the
costs. In 1732 they were successful in restraining Sir Oswald Mosley
from using a malt mill which he had erected in Hanging Ditch. It will
easily be understood that the tenants of the mills were exceedingly
unpopular with the inhabitants. Witty John Byrom, in an epigram which
became proverbial, thus lampooned the two of them, who from their spare
forms had been nicknamed Skin and Bone:—
“Bone and Skin, two millers thin,
Would starve the town, or near it;
But be it known to Skin and Bone
That Flesh and Blood won’t bear it.”
This was written in 1737, and there was something prophetic in the
quatrain, for in 1757, when the pressure of hard times was severely
felt, there was a fatal riot arising out of the popular feeling against
the monopoly. On June 6th the provisions brought by the farmers to the
market were seized by the mob, and a considerable quantity was
destroyed. The approach of harvest would, it was hoped, bring something
of peace and plenty, but when this anticipation proved delusive, the
patience of the people was exhausted, and a large assembly from
Saddleworth, Oldham, and other parts, having destroyed a corn mill at
Clayton, advanced to Shudehill. They were met, however, by Mr. James
Bayley, who was then high sheriff of the county, and who had with him a
party of soldiers and a large number of the well-to-do inhabitants on
horseback. The rioters, confident that the soldiers would not fire upon
them, proceeded to various acts of violence. The goods in the market
were seized, the troops were pelted with stones, and one of the
soldiers was killed on the spot. This was more than the military were
likely to endure, and on receiving orders they fired, and in the
ensuing struggle four of the rioters were killed and fifteen wounded.
This unhappy occurrence probably had its share in the formation of that
public opinion which in 1758 led to the passing of an Act of Parliament
for the regulation of the mills. This Act stated that in consequence of
the increase of population, it was desirable to free the inhabitants of
Manchester from their obligation to grind at the School Mills any corn
or grain whatsoever, malt only excepted. The exception was made on the
ground that the mills were adequate to the task of grinding all the
malt needed. The charge was fixed at “one shilling and no more for the
grinding of one load containing six bushels or twenty-four pecks of
malt of Winchester measure,” instead of the twenty-fourth part which
had previously been taken. The monopoly in this modified form continued
to our day.
Formerly the privilege was valuable, and though the profit was devoted
to a good cause, it is instructive to note the economical effect. The
restriction was always irksome to the brewers, and it is observable
that all modern local breweries have been erected just outside the
boundaries of the township of Manchester, as, for instance, in Moss
Side, Hulme, Cheetham, Ardwick, and Gorton. No new breweries have been
built for many years in Manchester proper.
It will be seen from this rapid retrospect that the Manchester Grammar
School Mills have a written history extending from the year 1301, and a
tradition that carries them generations further back.
The Rising of 1715.
England, it has been epigramatically said, is governed by reactions.
There is more truth in the remark than is usually found in smart
sayings. There is an ebb and flow in the political tide, the waves
which thunder against the bulwarks and threaten to overwhelm the
peaceful town beyond them, fall calmly back again to their sandy bed.
An example of this phenomenon we have in the intense Jacobitism of
Lancashire at the commencement of the last century. Lancashire was not
without gallant cavaliers who charged for the “King and the Laws”
behind the fiery Rupert, but the county at large swore by the
Parliament and struck some hard blows at the “Lord’s anointed.” The
memorable “petition for peace” was drawn up by a Manchester man, and
the first victims of that civil war which was to drench England with
blood, were inhabitants of that town. It was natural then to expect
that the pendulum should swing right to the other extreme of its line,
and that the descendants of those who had pulled down the monarch from
his throne, and consigned him to the traitor’s block, should be
sticklers for the right divine of kings to govern wrong, should risk
fortune, life, and limb, to replace on the throne of his ancestors the
double dealing James and his unfortunate descendants. There were some
special causes which strengthened the hands of the Jacobites in this
quarter. The Roman Catholics were distinguishable by their steady,
unalterable loyalty to the House of Stuart, and the persecution to
which they were subjected from the reign of Elizabeth downwards, only
served to strengthen their attachment. The jealousy of the Low Church
men, and the bitter antagonism of the Puritans was sufficient to defeat
any amelioration of their condition which the Sovereign might desire,
but in their sufferings they recollected that both Charles and his
brother had been desirous of extending to them toleration for the
exercise of their religion. The Dissenters, however, chose to endure
the severities of the Test Act themselves, rather than do anything to
hinder the harrying and persecution of the Romanists. The Roman
Catholics had natural friends in the High Church men, who held in all
fulness the doctrine of the divine right, and consequently the
unlawfulness of the tenure by which King William and George I. held the
throne. The clearness and distinctness with which this opinion was
formulated must be considered if we would understand the motive power
of the Jacobite rebellions.
According to them the King was God’s representative on earth, and
unconditional obedience was due to all his commands. He might be a
drunken, licentious scoundrel, a perjured villain, a red-handed
murderer, a raving madman, but nothing on earth could invalidate his
inborn kingly right, and whoso disobeyed him, was false to God and to
his country. This opinion was supported by a second theory as to the
patriarchal origin of monarchy. Adam and Abraham exercised regal power,
therefore it was “unnatural for the people to govern or choose
governors.” Charles II. is but an odd looking patriarch, although like
the King of Yvetot, his subjects had a hundred reasons for calling him
their father. However, as the learned O’Flaherty in his “Ogygia” tells
us that the Stuarts were descended in a direct line from Adam (which is
probable), and that it was the 124th generation that ascended the
Scottish throne, Charles might perhaps claim his monarchical privileges
as heir general of the Father of Mankind.
This leading doctrine of the High Church party was closely wedded to a
sentiment of bitter dislike of the Protestant Dissenters. The
impeachment of Sacheverell, the High Church clergyman, for his
denunciation of the revolution of 1688, and of the principles which had
brought it about, roused to fever heat all the evil passions of the
time. His punishment (three years’ prohibition from preaching) was so
slight as to be almost a triumph. In 1714 a bill for the repression of
Schism was only prevented from coming in force by the death of Queen
Anne.
The accession of George I. was a tremendous blow for the Jacobites, and
in Manchester they went mad with rage. The Pretender’s birthday,
Friday, the 10th of June, was fittingly selected as the time for
wreaking their revenge on the Dissenters. On that day various places in
England were disgraced by riotous mobs drinking health to King James,
and breathing fiery vows of vengeance against the Presbyterians. The
Manchester mob was second to none. The town was in a state of anarchy
for days, and King Mob had it all his own way. With beating of drums
they enlivened their marches, and with fiery potations inflamed their
loyalty and piety. Woe to the luckless Nonconformist who came in their
way! The riot was not unlike a rebellion. They had their recognised
leaders: a colonel, whose name forgetful history has nowhere recorded;
and a captain, Thomas Syddal, a sturdy blacksmith, the end of whose
brawling life was not far off. They had the tacit encouragement of
Jacobite magistrates, who left the rabble masters of the situation. The
only Dissenting meeting-house in Manchester was in Acresfield, and is
now known as Cross Street Unitarian Chapel. Headed by the valiant
Syddal, these friends of the ancient constitution in Church and State
attacked the humble meeting-house, and wrecked it completely. The bare
walls were all the vestiges they left of the lowly house of prayer. So
fine a performance did the mob consider it, that with infinite gusto
they repeated it at Monton, Blackley, and in fact all the
meeting-houses that fell in their way as they marched toward Yorkshire.
Things were assuming so serious an aspect, and the local authorities
were so unable or unwilling to check it effectually, that the
Government had to interpose with a military force. It was not until
there had been a fortnight’s carnival of riot and outrage that the Earl
of Stair dispersed the Manchester band, and took prisoners its leading
men. Occasional outbreaks in various places continued until the end of
July. The House of Commons petitioned the King for the vigorous
enforcement of the law, the punishment of neglectful justices, and the
compensation from the public funds of the sufferers. The destruction of
religious meeting-houses was declared to be felony without benefit of
clergy, and, £1,500 was granted to the Protestant Dissenters of
Manchester for the repair of their temple.
Syddal and his colonel were tried at Lancaster Assizes in August. In
pursuance of their sentence they both decorated the pillory on the
market day, whilst some looked on with scorn and more with sympathy.
They were tenderly treated, for no man was allowed to fling anything at
them; thus they escaped the worst part of the ordeal. From the pillory
back to jail, and there they lay until their prison gates were opened
by the army of James III. The High Church faction were a loose-living,
hard-drinking race, fonder of confusing their brains by drinking
“Confusion to the Elector of Hanover” than of striking home an honest
blow for the King over the water. Their conspiracies were of the
pot-house order, concocted over a flowing punch-bowl. They exaggerated
probably even to themselves the strength of their party, and when the
Scottish Jacobites (with whom the struggle was chiefly for the ancient
integrity and independence of their kingdom) determined to raise the
standard of the Pretender, they had received assurances that twenty
thousand Lancashire men would join their forces. On the faith of these
promises the Fiery Cross was sent flaming round the Highlands, and the
rebellion, which, if confined to Scotland, would have had strong
chances of success, was to be a general one. The Earl of Derwentwater
and the Roman Catholic gentlemen of Northumberland effected a junction
with the two Scottish armies at Kelso. This is not the place to
chronicle the movements of the rebel army, their want of purpose, or
their internal dissensions. The incompetence of their leader, a country
squire turned into a general, whose jealousy of the military reputation
of grim old Brigadier Mackintosh led him to reject wise counsel,
brought on the fatal catastrophe which awaited them. At Langholm they
were met by Lord Widdrington, who assured them of Lancashire aid and
sympathy, and this determined at last their course of action. They
marched into England, but not without misgivings on the part of the
leaders, and many desertions on the part of the Highlanders, who were
bitterly opposed to leaving Scotland. They were joined by very few men
in their English march, the leaders were thoroughly dispirited, and
Mackintosh, tough old soldier as he was, looked gloomily at the
cheerless prospect before them.
At Kendal their cheerfulness was somewhat restored by the appearance of
Lord Widdrington’s brother with news that Lancashire was ready to rise,
that James III. had that day been proclaimed King at Manchester, where
the townspeople had undertaken to furnish a troop of fifty men at their
own expense, and where many volunteers might be expected. Instead of
marching on Newcastle, where the Whig general was hurrying to meet
them, they determined to advance to Lancaster. The loyalists were
completely surprised at this descent into Lancashire. Sir Henry
Houghton was at the head of a body of militia numbering 600. He could
not obtain the aid of some dragoons who were stationed in Preston, but
refused to stir without orders from London, and he was forced to
retreat on Preston, and the army of King James took peaceful possession
of the town with trumpets sounding, and the bare swords of the
gentlemen glittering gaily as they rode triumphantly forward. The
prisoners in the castle were now released from durance vile, and
Syddal—Captain Syddal, as he was styled—attached himself to the
regiment of the Earl of Derwentwater. Perhaps he was one of the lucky
gentlemen soldiers, who dressed “in their best clothes,” went to drink
a dish of tea with the ladies of Lancaster, which fair Jacobites were
also “in their best rigging, and had their tea tables richly furnished
for to entertain their new suitors.” On the 9th of November they
marched to Preston, and were greatly encouraged by learning that the
dragoons already mentioned had quitted that town. Less pleasing to them
was the conduct of Peploe the curate, who had the courage to read with
extra emphasis and unction the prayers for King George and his family.
At Preston the rebels remained inactive, seemingly careless of the
danger which threatened them. Carpenter was hastening from Newcastle,
and a second force was hastening in detachments from the west to be
placed under the command of General Wills in the neighbourhood. The
plan of the campaign was drawn up by no less a man than Marlborough. On
the 8th Wills passed through Manchester and found the town so
disaffected that he quartered a thousand men in it, greatly to the
disgust of the High Church Tories, some of whom were arrested, whilst
others fled, or remained in concealment. Whilst the rebels were
“feasting and courting” in Preston, bewitched by the Jacobite charms of
what was then the most aristocratic and luxurious of the Lancashire
towns, wasting the precious hours in contented lotos-eating, the Whigs
were full of activity. Even Dissenting ministers in more than one case
marched at the head of their congregations with muskets, scythes
mounted on poles, and everything that could be tortured into weapons of
offence, and joined the army of General Wills to fight for liberty and
the Protestant succession. The Rev. James Woods, of Chowbent, was
conspicuous in this way, and for the rest of his life was commonly
known as “General” Woods.
Notwithstanding the military genius of Mackintosh who now planned the
defence, the rebels after some hard fighting, on the arrival of
Carpenter found themselves hopelessly surrounded. They sent Colonel
Oxburgh to treat with Wills for a capitulation. “I will not treat with
Rebels; they have killed several of the King’s subjects, and they must
expect to undergo the same fate.” Such was Wills’ alternative,
unconditional surrender, and only one hour in which to decide. This
secret negotiation exasperated the Highlanders, who swore they would
die fighting, and vowed they would shoot their muddle-headed General
Forster if they had the chance. The time for consideration was
afterwards extended after a further conference with some of the Scotch
officers, who pledged themselves to a cessation from arms. Some six or
seven rebels were, notwithstanding, cut to pieces in an attempt to
escape. Mackintosh was now a hostage in the hands of the King’s forces,
and on the 13th of November the defenders of Preston surrendered at
discretion. Many of the rebels escaped, but the number of prisoners was
1,569.
The rebellion begun hastily and ignorantly, carried on through all its
course with dissensions, quarrels, and the most lamentable
incompetence, had arrived at its ignominious end, so far as England was
concerned. Preston was for some time given up to plunder, and the
prisoners reserved for retribution, in divers jails of Lancashire and
Cheshire. The House of Hanover was never noticeable for mercy, and the
retribution was a bloody one.
The landing of James in Scotland did no good at all. Above a thousand
of the rebels were transported, some of the leaders amongst them;
Forster and the brave old Mackintosh escaped, the one by fraud, the
other by force. The number who were executed is not known. The hangman
had a triumphant progress through Lancashire. On the eleventh of
February, 1716, there came into Manchester a melancholy cavalcade.
Bound to one horse by strong cords and surrounded by guards, there rode
into the town dashing Tom Syddal, the former leader of the High Church
mob in destroying the Dissenting chapels, and with him four others who
had been condemned to death. They were hanged, drawn, and quartered, at
Knott Mill. Syddal’s head was afterwards fixed on the Market Cross.
The Fool of Lancaster.
“Take gifts with a sigh, most men give to be paid.”—J. B. O’REILLY.
_Rules of the Road._
This story, which is told in “Jack of Dover,” 1604, is instructive if
not amusing:—“There was of late (quoth another of the jurie) a
ploughman and a butcher dwelling in Lancaster who, for a trifling
matter (like two fooles), went to law, and spent much money therein,
almost to both their undoings; but at last, being both consented to be
tride by a lawyer dwelling in the same town, each of them, in hope of a
further favour, bestowed gyftes upon him. The ploughman first of all
presented him a cupple of good fat hens, desiring Mr. Lawyer to stand
his good friend, and to remember his suite in law, the which he
courteously tooke at his handes, saying that what favour he could show
him, he should be sure of the uttermost. But now, when the butcher
heard of the presenting of these hens by the ploughman, hee went and
presently killed a good fatte hogge, and in like manner presented it to
the lawyer, as a bribe to draw him to his side; the which he also tooke
very courteously, and promised the like to him as he did before to the
other. But so it fell out, that shortly after the verdict passed on the
butcher’s side; which when the ploughman had notice of, he came to the
lawyer, and asked him wherefore his two hens were forgotten. Mary,
quoth he, because there came in a fatte hogge and eate them up. Now a
vengeance take that hog! quoth the ploughman, that eate both my suit in
law and hens together! Well, quoth Jacke of Dover, this in my minde was
pretty foolery, but yet the foole of all fooles is not heere found,
that I looked for.”
This seems to have been a rather favourite jest, for it is given also
in the “Pleasant Conceits of Old Hobson,” 1607, and in the “Mery
Tales,” 1530, and is one of the mediæval jokes given by Wright in his
“Latin Stories” (Percy Society).
Alexander Barclay and Manchester.
Probably the first purely literary reference to Manchester is that
contained in the first eclogue of Alexander Barclay. Of the two
shepherds who carry on a dialogue, Cornix is the chief speaker, and
graphically pourtrays the miseries of life at court. Early in the
conversation comes this passage:—
_Cornix._
. . . . . .
Thus all be fooles which willingly there dwell,
Coridon, the court is the bayting place of hell.
_Coridon._
That is hardly saide man, by the roode of rest.
_Cornix._
I graunt it is harde, but to say truth is best,
But yet shall I proue my saying veritable,
Aduert my wordes, see if I be culpable.
Unto our purpose: by diuers wayes three
Men may be fooles, I shall them count to thee:
They all be fooles which set their thought and minde
That thing for to seke which they shall neuer finde.
And they be fooles which seke thing with delite,
Which if they finde is harm and no profite;
And he is a foole, a sotte, and a geke also,
Which choseth a place unto the same to go,
And where diuers wayes lead thither directly
He choseth the worst and most of ieopardie:
As if diuers wayes laye unto Islington,
To Stow on the Wold, Quaueneth or Trompington,
To Douer, Durham, to Barwike or Exeter,
To Grantham, Totnes, Bristow, or good Manchester,
To Roan, Paris, to Lions or Floraunce.
_Coridon._
What ho man abide, what already in Fraunce.
Lo, a fayre journey, and shortly ended to,
With all these townes what thing have we to do?
_Cornix._
By God man knowe thou that I haue had to do
In all these townes and yet in many mo,
To see the worlde in youth me thought was best,
And after in age to geue my selfe to rest.
_Coridon._
Thou might haue brought one and set by our village.
_Cornix._
What man I might not for lacke of cariage.
To cary mine owne selfe was all that euer I might,
And sometime for ease my sachell made I light.
_Coridon._
To our first matter we better must entende,
Els in twelue monthes we scant shall make an ende.
(_Spenser Society’s Reprint_, pp. 5-6.)