PROVINCIAL ADVENTURES, 1860-1863.
In addition to the more serious opposition which Mr Bradlaugh
encountered at such places as Wigan, Devonport, and Guernsey, there
were countless smaller "incidents" constantly occurring, some
unpleasant, others merely ludicrous. I have noted a few for these
pages; of these, perhaps, the greater number may be thought of minor
importance, but at least they will serve to show the kind of reception
given to heretical opinions in the provinces five-and-thirty years ago.
At Altrincham, one Sunday, early in June 1860, my father had engaged
to deliver two open-air addresses. Several highly religious persons
openly indulged in the fond wish that it might rain hard on Hale Moss;
and as if in direct response to their prayers, "the lightning flashed,
thunder pealed, and the rain poured down in torrents." The lightning
struck a public-house chimney and did considerable damage generally.
The clergyman of St Margaret's, Altrincham, foolishly hoped that this
would prove a warning to people to keep away from Infidel lectures.
Mr Bradlaugh's comment on this was, that it was "a curious warning to
strike a public-house with electricity to frighten people from hearing
the address of a teetotal Infidel." In any case, the "warning" was not
a very thoroughgoing one, for the storm cleared, and in the evening
there was a large and attentive audience. A few months later, Mr
Bradlaugh was again lecturing in Altrincham, and without the help of a
single placard 1000 persons attended in the afternoon, and rather more
in the evening. At the end of the evening lecture a police sergeant
came forward and announced to my father that he was obstructing a
thoroughfare, and must therefore "move on." "Legally he may be right,"
said Mr Bradlaugh afterwards, "but if it is a thoroughfare, grass
grows upon it; it is almost impassable for horse and cart, and is a
direct route to nowhere. My lecture, however, being over, I bowed to
the majesty of the law, as represented by Z 1, and only hope that the
police will always wait, in like manner, till the conclusion of the
proceedings before saying 'move on.'"
In August "Iconoclast" had arranged to visit the village of Shaw. The
prospect created great excitement in the district, which was further
worked up by the _Oldham Standard_ inserting letters of attack but
refusing reply; there was even a rumour that force would be used to
prevent the lectures. No room could be obtained, and so the address had
to be delivered in the open air. Mr Bradlaugh had scarcely commenced
to speak when a Royton Police Sergeant called roughly to him to come
down:--
ICONOCLAST: "Why?"
SERGEANT: "Never you mind why! Come down, or I will pull you
down."
ICONOCLAST: "You may try if you like, and one of us may come
down, but I do not think I shall be that one."
The police sergeant was sadly bothered; he tried again; but Iconoclast
quoted legal authorities.
The poor policeman then consulted with those about him, and finding
bullying of no avail, at length retired, leaving Iconoclast and
his audience in possession of the field. It can hardly be called
"undisturbed" possession however, for the Christians, having been
unsuccessful in the matter of police interference, hired a drum and
other noise-creating instruments, and posted them on some adjacent
private ground; but even in this way they failed to break up the
meeting, as they counted without Mr Bradlaugh's powerful voice and
tenacity of purpose. He persisted to the end, and delivered his lecture
to a most orderly audience of some 800 persons. He visited Shaw several
times during the next twelve months; but although he was still unable
to get a room to speak in, the manners of his Christian opponents
improved on each occasion.
When Mr Bradlaugh was unknown, he often had difficulty in finding a
chairman to preside at his meetings. Sometimes he would proceed without
one, and sometimes one would be elected by the audience. A chairman
so elected, however, would occasionally have comical ideas as to the
duties of his position, and regard the chair merely as a privileged
place, from which he might make hostile comments upon the methods and
manner of the lecturer. In such a case the harmony of the meeting was
better preserved without the assistance of a chairman.
But if it was difficult to get a chairman to preside over the meeting,
it was even more difficult in many places to get a hall in which
the meeting could be held. At Sunderland the hall was refused to Mr
Bradlaugh because it could not be let for "such damnable doctrines."
In Rochdale the Public Hall, although let for week-day lectures, was
refused for Sunday discourses. The Rochdale Freethinkers therefore
hired the theatre; but the police authorities, whose functions seemed
to include "the cure of souls," intimated to the lessee that if he kept
to his contract his licence would be in danger. When this was explained
to Mr Bradlaugh, he gave way, and delivered his lectures in the open
air; in the morning on the Butts to about 3000 persons, in the evening
in a large field near Roebuck to a still larger audience. The only
result, therefore, of this endeavour to shut him out of Rochdale on
the Sunday, was really to procure for him larger and more interested
audiences. In January 1861, Mr Bradlaugh went to Leigh, in Lancashire,
where no Freethought speaker had been for twenty years. The thermometer
was below freezing, and the roads like ice. A menagerie, with real wild
beasts who roared and a real elephant who walked the streets, occupied
the thoughts of the town. But worse than new place, icy weather, or
wonderful menagerie, was the bellman of Leigh. This bellman, wrote
my father sorrowfully, was not "a teetotaller, and had offered up
considerable sacrifices to Bacchus. This course of conduct sadly
interfered with the clearness of his articulation, and to fill the cup
of my misery he had also to announce the loss of a donkey. The two
announcements were so jumbled together that little was distinguishable
except the donkey."[67]
[Footnote 67: C. Bradlaugh in _National Reformer_, Jan. 12, 1861.]
From Leigh Mr Bradlaugh went in the freezing weather to Warrington,
another place in which no Freethought speaker had raised his voice
for a score or more of years, but where the editor of the _Warrington
Guardian_ had been trying to fan some warmth of hate into the
townsfolk. In the issue for January 5th, the editor announced that
there was to be "a most ribald, ignorant, and virulent attack upon the
Holy Scriptures," adding further that Mr Bradlaugh had been lecturing
in the neighbourhood
"in such a blasphemous manner that the local papers have been utterly
unable to report his sayings. Surely Warrington has enough of
temptations to ungodliness without any assistance from stipendiary
peripatetics, or pickers up of a lazy living, who cover with their
slime, like noxious reptiles, what they want sense or taste to admire."
It was by such attack upon an as yet unheard man that this Christian
thought to serve the Omnipotent. From insulting Mr Bradlaugh he went
on to abuse the lessee of the Warrington theatre, who had let the
theatre for the lecture, and here his attack proved successful; for in
consequence of the pressure put upon him, the "unfortunate lessee,"
as my father magnanimously called him, felt compelled to close the
theatre. The _Guardian_ triumphantly announced that the lectures would
not be held, but this was somewhat premature. Mr Bradlaugh succeeded
in getting a small room in a back street, and fresh placards were
issued, although it was so late as the night before the lecture.
After delivering two lectures to small but attentive audiences, he
left Warrington between two and three a.m. for Dumfries, with the
thermometer standing at eighteen degrees. There he remained three days,
lecturing each evening, and had fair audiences and a pleasant time,
notwithstanding that this was the first time within the memory of the
"oldest inhabitant" that a Freethought speaker had been to Dumfries.[68]
[Footnote 68: Mr Barker's lecture (p. 121) was a month or two later.]
When his adversaries could find nothing better to say, they would taunt
him with earning money by his lectures, and this sneer was repeated in
every variety of elegant language.[69]
[Footnote 69: A correspondent to the _Oldham Standard_ enjoined upon
his fellow Christians that it was their duty "to root out of our
establishments every one advocating his principles, for the safety of
those committed to our care, and the honour of our God. Let us do this
and 'Iconoclast,' will fall to the ground and never again rise. His
object is to live upon the pence of his deluded hearers, and, after
a time, when he has become old and infirm, to turn round, and by a
recantation of his present teaching worm himself into comfortable bread
as a reclaimed infidel."
The _North Cheshire Herald_, in alluding to some lectures delivered by
Mr Bradlaugh at Hyde, in the summer of 1861, said:--
"In justice to 'Iconoclast,' we must say he possesses great oratorical
powers, and he has, so far as the ignorant are concerned, a very
pleasing way of practising on their gullibility. He is cunning to
a degree, but his object may be seen through without the aid of
spectacles. It is evident that he means money; for when it is known
that he received £5 for using such blasphemous language as would not
be uttered by the very lowest of the 'fallen' class, the fact is
indisputable.... We sincerely hope that God will change his heart, and
that when he is about quitting this sublunary world, he will not be
heard exclaiming, as other infidels have done, 'What shall I do to be
saved?'"]
No sort of insult was too gross for such people to condescend to for
"the honour of our God." In November 1860, Mr Bradlaugh remarked[70]
that "some one who signs himself 'Z' in the _Glossop Record_, but who
is not a wise head, says I have come 'to raise the wind.' He is right.
It will probably blow a severe gale in the Gospel vineyard in Glossop
before we have done with it."
[Footnote 70: In _National Reformer_ of that date.]
In the spring of 1861, Mr Bradlaugh spent two days at Burnley. As here
again no hall could be obtained, his lectures had to be delivered in
the open air, with the usual result, that instead of having an audience
of a few hundred persons, thousands came to listen to his voice.
About the same time, the Market Hall at Chesterfield was hired for
lectures, and afterwards closed against Mr Bradlaugh. The theatre
was then taken, but even here Mr Bradlaugh was obliged to make his
entrance by force. The audiences were, as usual, orderly and attentive,
"notwithstanding the fact that at one lecture the authorities suddenly,
and without any previous intimation, cut off the gas from the main
and plunged the theatre into total darkness."[71] The editor of the
_Derbyshire Times_, in referring to these lectures, exhibited some
confusion of ideas; he thought too much fuss had already been made
"in the matter of that blustering bigot 'Iconoclast,'" and then
proceeded to devote considerable space to him; he thought the Mayor
of Chesterfield was wrong in shutting him out of the theatre, but
considered he himself was wise in "excluding an Infidel controversy"
from the paper. "In my heart," he said, "I pity Iconoclast. One
serious illness would make him a coward." This is a favourite piece
of clap-trap with a certain class of Christians. It may deceive other
Christians--and it is possibly said with that intent--for an Atheist
it has no meaning. As for this, it is sufficient to say that more than
once, more than twice, my father consciously found himself face to face
with death, and on each occasion his mind was perfectly clear and his
brain wonderfully acute. He was full of regrets and full of anxiety;
but his regrets were for his unfinished work; his anxieties were for
those he loved no less than for those who loved him, or were dependent
upon him. For himself, speaking of the near possibility of death with
his doctors, he said, "Ah, well, I cannot grumble; I have lived the
lives of three men; I have burned the candle at both ends, and the
middle as well." He suffered great physical pain, but he never broke
down, and not for a single instant did his courage waver.
[Footnote 71: In _National Reformer_, June 1861.]
At Worksop, at this period, not only could no lecture room be obtained,
but the prejudice in the town was so great that no one had sufficient
courage to go with Mr Bradlaugh to the place of meeting. It rained
all day until close upon the lecture hour, and then he turned out
rather disconsolately to find the appointed place. Under a lamp he
found a bill announcing that that was the spot from which he was
expected to speak, and by the bill there was the welcome sight of a
Sheffield friend. To this audience of one he commenced his address,
but after a few minutes--despite the counter-attractions heralded by
the drums of a travelling showman--the audience grew in size and in
attentive interest. At the close some questions were put, and there
was some intelligent conversation upon the subject of the lecture. One
Christian, however, who was, for some reason, told that his question
would be answered upon the following evening, cried, "Answer it
to-night; to-morrow you may be where you ought to be, in hell."
In August 1861 Mr Bradlaugh was in Lancashire, and on one showery
Sunday he betook himself to a place known as Boardman's Edge, where it
was arranged that he should lecture. He himself tells the story of this
experience.
"On arriving at the place," he says, "I found a little opposition:
three policemen and a stout gentleman in black, whose precise status I
was unable to ascertain, but who was introduced to me as the 'Lord's
Steward,' forbade the meeting. Their prohibition had little effect,
and the meeting soon assembled in the field hired for the purpose, and
numbered from 1500 to 2000 persons.... The [Royton] band prefaced the
meeting with a march, and then Mr J. Biltcliffe, of Stalybridge, was
elected chairman. Another attempt was now made; the constabulary had
been reinforced, five were now present, and they came with the farmer
from whom the field had been taken, to eject us _vi et armis_. The
police began to talk, but as their oratory is not very inspiring I
ordered them to keep quiet until the farmer had spoken.
"FARMER: You must go away from here.
"ICONOCLAST: The field is mine. I decline to go.
"FARMER: It is true I have let you the field, but I find you
must not have it.
"ICONOCLAST: As you have let the field, I am your tenant, and
occupy it as such. I am sorry to give you trouble, but I decline to go.
"POLICE-OFFICER: Oh, we'll see about that.
"ICONOCLAST: Silence, sir; you and your companions, as
policemen, have no right here on my ground, except by my permission. If
you are disorderly, I shall have you removed." The police were suddenly
subdued; from talkers they became listeners, and the meeting proceeded
peacefully and satisfactorily.
An advertisement, stating that my father proposed to lecture in the
Dewsbury Public Hall on February 9th, 1862, provoked an extraordinary
burst of venom and spite from those who constituted themselves chief
defenders of the faith in Dewsbury. The following is the text of a bill
posted throughout the town, and is probably unrivalled as a form of
attack:--
"Grand discovery! To be seen to-morrow, Sunday, not one hundred
miles from the Public Hall, a fine specimen of the gorilla tribe,
standing seven feet six inches in height, imported into England from
Sheffield, the capital of the Hollyhock settlement, in the interior
of Africa, and brought to this town for public exhibition by Mr
Greenfield. This gorilla is said to be one of the finest of its tribe.
It presents a bold front, is impudent in its demeanour, and growls
fearfully at the approach of a debt-collector, magistrate, or any
Government officer. Having been some time in England under an assumed
name, it has acquired a smattering of the language, and will address
visitors on the origin, progress, and future prospects of the gorilla
tribe. As the animal will be properly secured, parties need be in no
apprehension of danger."
Of course, the only effect of this ridiculous insult was to increase
the size of the audience, people coming from Huddersfield, Leeds, and
other places round.
A curious incident happened at Leeds, where Mr Bradlaugh was lecturing
in August 1862. The subject for the evening address was, "Were Adam and
Eve our first parents?" and Mr Bradlaugh was opposed by a young man who
had already offered some opposition at the afternoon lecture, and had
then created a favourable impression by the pleasant ease and fluency
with which he spoke. A question arose as to a passage in the works of
Eusebius to which Mr Bradlaugh had referred. The passage, which he
read at request, the young man, who turned out to be a paid preacher
belonging to Kirkstall, near Leeds, said was not from Eusebius, but
from some other book. On Mr Bradlaugh asking for the name of the
book, the young preacher said he had so many books that he could not
remember their names, but if Mr Bradlaugh would go home with him at the
conclusion of the lecture he would show him the book. This audacious
young man must have been somewhat dismayed when he found himself taken
seriously, for after the lecture Mr Bradlaugh hired a cab and went home
with him "accompanied by one Christian and one Infidel to see fair
play." Arrived at Kirkstall, the preacher's "numerous library subsided
into two modest rows of books on a little table, and after about half
an hour's search [he] ended by begging my pardon, and admitting that
_he had made a mistake_."[72] The Christian who had gone "to see fair
play" was so ashamed that he called upon Mr Bradlaugh on the following
evening and reimbursed the cab-hire which the latter had paid. But the
"mendacious parsonling" (as my father called him) knew no shame, for at
Mr Bradlaugh's next lecture he again rose and tried to explain away his
former conduct and misstatement; he further said that he had consulted
with persons well read, in Eusebius, but none had met with the passage
quoted by Mr Bradlaugh, and to satisfy the audience he had procured
the volume of Eusebius and brought it with him. "I rather too hastily
abbreviated his triumph," said Mr Bradlaugh, "by turning to the book he
brought ... and by reading from his own volume the paragraph which he
had so decidedly said was not there." The young Christian teacher did
not seem to mind in the least being a second time exposed, for, quite
unabashed, he rose again to speak on another subject.
[Footnote 72: C. Bradlaugh in _National Reformer_.]
There is one more story which I must tell before quite leaving the
subject of these early provincial lecturing experiences, and I must
tell it not merely because it presents what my father called "a rather
novel feature," but because with a little addendum specially composed
for the purpose it has been made to do duty as a sort of bulwark of the
Christian faith.
On the second Sunday of December, in the year 1863, Mr Bradlaugh was
giving three lectures in the Philosophical Hall, Huddersfield, and the
subject for the evening was "Le Roi Voltaire." A "very voluble lady,"
said to be an enthusiast of the Weaver school, got up after the lecture
to offer some opposition--if what she said could be dignified by that
name! This lady told the audience what we may suppose to have been
intended as an awe-inspiring story, but which must, in reality, have
been provocative of much mirth. Her son, she said, had once purchased
half a pound of butter, and brought it home wrapped up in a leaf of
some work by Voltaire. "The leaf was thrown upon the fire ere fully
read, but the effect was so remarkable," said my father, in recounting
this incident at the time, "that the son dreamed he saw Voltaire, who
appeared with a ball of fire for a head and another ball of fire for a
heart. Voltaire, while thus blazing, informed the lady's son that he,
the French infidel, was burning in hell, where all Voltairians were
sure to join him and share his fate."
This story, albeit rather trifling, is harmless enough, and even
amusing as it stands, but the unauthorised revised version concludes by
saying that Mr Bradlaugh was quite discomfited by the old lady's tale,
and went away unable to answer her. I have seen this used against my
father even since his death. Such are the devices resorted to by the
foolish to convince people of the truths of Christianity.