Warrant served on Sir Francis Burdett—He agrees to go to
prison—Subsequently he declares the warrant illegal—His arrest—His
journey to the Tower—The mob—His incarceration—The mob attack the
military—Collision—Killed and wounded—Sir Francis’s letter to the
Speaker—His release—Conduct of the mob.
UP TO this time the proceedings had been grave and dignified, but Sir
Francis imported a ludicrous element into his capture.
Never was any arrest attempted in so gentlemanlike, and obliging a
manner.[35] At half-past seven o’clock in the morning, as soon as
the division in the House of Commons was known, Mr. Jones Burdett,
accompanied by Mr. O’Connor, who had remained all night at the House
of Commons, set off in a post chaise to Wimbledon, and informed Sir
Francis Burdett of the result. Sir Francis immediately mounted his
horse, and rode to town. He found a letter on his table from Mr.
Colman, the Serjeant-at-Arms, acquainting him that he had received a
warrant, signed by the Speaker, to arrest and convey him to the Tower,
and he begged to know when he might wait on him; that it was his wish
to show him the utmost respect, and, therefore, if he preferred to take
his horse, and ride to the Tower, he would meet him there.
To this very courteous and considerate letter, Sir Francis replied
that he should be happy to receive him at noon next day. However,
before this letter could reach the Serjeant-at-Arms, he called on Sir
Francis, and verbally informed him that he had a warrant against him.
Sir Francis told him he should be ready for him at twelve next day, and
Mr. Colman bowed, and retired. Indeed it was so evidently the intention
of the baronet to go to his place of durance quietly, that, in the
evening, he sent a friend to the Tower to see if preparations had been
made to receive him, and it was found that every consideration for his
comfort had been taken.
But the urbane Serjeant-at-Arms, when he made his report to the
Speaker, was mightily scolded by him for not executing his warrant,
and at 8 p.m. he called, with a messenger, on Sir Francis, and told
him that he had received a severe reprimand from the Speaker for not
executing his warrant in the morning, and remaining with his prisoner.
Sir Francis replied that he should not have allowed him to have
remained, and that he would not yield a voluntary assent to the
warrant, but would only give in, in presence of an overwhelming force.
The Serjeant-at-Arms then withdrew, having refused to be the bearer
of a letter to the Speaker, which was afterwards conveyed to that
dignitary by private hands. In this letter he asserted he would only
submit to superior force, and insultingly said, “Your warrant, sir, I
believe you know to be illegal. I know it to be so.”
On the morning of the 7th of April another attempt was made by a
messenger of the House to serve him with the warrant and arrest him;
but, although Sir Francis read it and put it in his pocket, he told the
messenger that he might return and inform the Speaker that he would not
obey it. The poor man said his orders were to remain there; but he was
commanded to retire, and had to go.
Later in the day, between twelve and one, came a troop of Life Guards,
who pranced up and down the road and pavement and dispersed the people,
who heartily hissed them. A magistrate read the Riot Act; the troops
cleared the road, and formed two lines across Piccadilly, where Sir
Francis lived; and so strictly was this cordon kept, that they refused
to allow his brother to pass to his dinner, until he was accompanied by
a constable. Sir Francis wrote to the Sheriffs complaining of his house
being beset by a military force.
No further attempt to execute the warrant was made that day, nor on the
following day, which was Sunday.
But the majesty of Parliament would brook no further trifling, and on
the Monday morning (April 9th), after breakfast, when “Sir Francis was
employed in hearing his son (who had just come from Eton school) read
and translate Magna Charta,” a man’s head was observed looking in at
the window, the same man advertising his advent by smashing a pane or
two of glass. Great credit was taken that no one threw this man off his
ladder, but, probably, the sight of the troops in front of the house,
acted as a deterrent. The civil authorities, however, had effected an
entrance by the basement, and entered the drawing-room, where a pretty
little farce was acted.
“The _Serjeant-at-Arms_ said: ‘Sir Francis, you are my prisoner.’
“_Sir Francis._ By what authority do you act, Mr. Serjeant? By what
power, sir, have you broken into my house, in violation of the laws of
the land?
“_Serjeant._ Sir Francis, I am authorized by the warrant of the Speaker
of the House of Commons.
“_Sir Francis._ I contest the authority of such a warrant. Exhibit to
me the legal warrant by which you have dared to violate my house. Where
is the Sheriff? Where is the Magistrate?
“At this time there was no magistrate, but he soon afterwards appeared.
“_Serjeant._ Sir Francis, my authority is in my hand: I will read it to
you: it is the warrant of the Right Honourable the Speaker of the House
of Commons.
“And here Mr. Colman attempted to read the warrant, but which he did
with great trepidation.
“_Sir Francis._ I repeat to you, that it is no sufficient warrant.
No—not to arrest my person in the open street, much less to break
open my house in violation of all law. If you have a warrant from His
Majesty, or from a proper officer of the King, I will pay instant
obedience to it; but I will not yield to an illegal order.
“_Serjeant._ Sir Francis, I demand you to yield in the name of the
Commons House of Parliament, and I trust you will not compel me to use
force. I entreat you to believe that I wish to show you every respect.
“_Sir Francis._ I tell you distinctly that I will not voluntarily
submit to an unlawful order; and I demand, in the King’s name, and in
the name of the law, that you forthwith retire from my house.
“_Serjeant._ Then, sir, I must call in assistance, and force you to
yield.
“Upon which the constables laid hold of Sir Francis. Mr. Jones Burdett
and Mr. O’Connor immediately stepped up, and each took him under an
arm. The constables closed in on all three, and drew them downstairs.
“_Sir Francis_ then said: ‘I protest in the King’s name against this
violation of my person and my house. It is superior force only that
hurries me out of it, and you do it at your peril.’”
A coach was ready, surrounded by Cavalry, and Sir Francis and his
friends entered it. The possibility of a popular demonstration, or
attempt at rescue, was evidently feared, for the escort consisted of
two squadrons of the 15th Light Dragoons, two troops of Life Guards,
with a magistrate at their head; then came the coach, followed by two
more troops of Life Guards, another troop of the 15th Light Dragoons,
two battalions of Foot Guards, the rear being formed by another party
of the 15th Light Dragoons. After escorting through Piccadilly, the
Foot Guards left, and marched straight through the City, to await the
prisoner at the Tower.
His escort went a very circuitous route, ending in Moorfields, the
result of an arrangement between the authorities and the Lord Mayor, by
which, if the one did not go through Temple Bar and the heart of the
City, the Lord Mayor would exert all his authority within his bounds,
as indeed he did, meeting, and heading, the cavalcade.
During his ride, Sir Francis, as might have been expected, posed,
sitting well forward so that he might be well seen. It could hardly be
from apathy, for the lower orders considered him as their champion;
but, either from the body of accompanying troops, or the curious route
taken, the journey to the Tower passed off almost without incident,
except a little crying out, until the Minories was reached, when the
East End—and it was a hundred times rougher than now—poured forth
its lambs to welcome their shepherd. The over-awing force on Tower
Hill prevented any absolute outbreak. There were shouts of “Burdett
for ever!” and a few of the mob got tumbled into the shallow water
of the Tower ditch, whence they emerged, probably all the better for
the unwonted wash. No attempt at rescue seems to have been made,
and the Tower gates were safely reached. The coach drew up; the
Serjeant-at-Arms entered the little wicket to confer with the military
authorities; the great gates swung open; the cannon boomed forth their
welcome to the prisoner, and Sir Francis was safely caged.
Up to this time the roughs had had no fun; it had been tame work, and,
if the military got away unharmed, it would have been a day lost; so
brickbats, stones, and sticks were thrown at them without mercy. The
soldiers’ tempers had been sorely tried; orders were given to fire,
and some of the mob fell. The riot was kept up until the troops had
left Fenchurch Street, and then the cost thereof was counted in the
shape of one killed and eight wounded. A contemporary account says:
“The confusion was dreadful, but the effect was the almost immediate
dispersion of the mob in every direction. A great part of them seemed
in a very advanced state of intoxication and otherwise infuriated to
madness, for some time braving danger in every shape. In all the route
of the military the streets were crowded beyond all possibility of
description; all the shops were shut up, and the most dreadful alarm
for some time prevailed.”
There were fears of another riot taking place when night fell, but
preparations were made. The Coldstream Guards were under orders, and
each man was furnished with thirty rounds of ball cartridge. Several
military parties paraded the streets till a late hour, and the cannon
in St. James’s Park were loaded with ball. Happily, however, all was
quiet, and these precautions, although not unnecessary, were un-needed.
Next day the Metropolis was quiet, showing that the sympathy with the
frothy hero of the hour, however loud it might be, was not deep. Even
at the Tower, which contained all that there was of the origin of this
mischief, the extra Guards were withdrawn, and ingress and egress to
the fortress were as ordinarily—the prisoner’s friends being allowed
to visit him freely. This episode may be closed with the consolatory
feeling that the one man who was killed had been exceedingly active
in attacking the military, and, at the moment when the shot was
fired which deprived him of existence, he was in the act of throwing
a brickbat at the soldiers. History does not record whether he was
accompanied to his grave by weeping brother bricklayers.
We have seen that Sir Francis Burdett proffered a letter, addressed to
the Speaker to the Serjeant-at-Arms, which the latter very properly
refused to deliver, and, on the 9th of April, this letter formed the
subject of a debate in the House of Commons. The Serjeant-at-Arms
was examined by the House as to the particulars of the recalcitrant
baronet’s arrest, and the Speaker added his testimony to the fact of
his reproving the Serjeant for not obeying orders. The debate was
adjourned until the next day, and it ended, according to Hansard, thus:
“It appearing to be the general sentiment that the Letter should not
be inserted on the Journals, the Speaker said he would give directions
accordingly. It being also understood that the Amendments moved should
not appear on the Journals, the Speaker said he would give directions
accordingly, and the question was put as an original motion, ‘That
it is the opinion of this House, that the said Letter is a high and
flagrant breach of the privileges of the House; but it appearing from
the report of the Serjeant-at-Arms attending this House, that the
warrant of the Speaker for the commitment of Sir Francis Burdett to the
Tower has been executed, this House will not, at this time, proceed
further on the said letter.’ Agreed _nem con._”
Then followed a scene that has its parallel in our days, with another
demagogue. Sir Francis Burdett commenced actions against the Speaker,
the Serjeant-at-Arms, and the Earl of Moira, who was then Governor of
the Tower. We know how easily petitions are got up, and this case was
no exception; but Sir Francis was kept in well-merited incarceration,
until the Prorogation of Parliament on the 21st of June, which set him
free. The scene on his liberation is very graphically described by a
contemporary:
“The crowd for some time continued but slowly to increase, but towards
three o’clock, their numbers were rapidly augmented; and, shortly after
three, as fitting a rabble as ever were ‘raked together’ appeared on
Tower Hill. The bands in the neighbourhood frequently struck up a tune;
and the assembled rabble as frequently huzzaed (_they knew not why_),
and thus between them, for an hour or two, they kept up a scene of
continual jollity and uproar.
“The _Moorfields Cavalry_[36] had by this time arrived at the scene of
action. Everything was prepared to carry Sir Francis (like the effigy
of Guy Fawkes on the 5th of November) through the City. The air was
rent by repeated shouts of ‘Burdett for ever!’ ‘Magna Charta!’ and
‘Trial by Jury!’ The blessings of the last, many of these patriots had
doubtless experienced, and were, therefore, justified in expressing
themselves with warmth. While these shouts burst spontaneously from
the elated rabble, and every eye was turned towards the Tower, with
the eagerness of hope, and the anxiety of expectation—on a sudden,
intelligence was received that they had all been made fools of by Sir
Francis, who, ashamed, probably, of being escorted through the City by
such a band of ‘ragged rumped’ vagabonds, had left the Tower, crossed
the water, and proceeded to Wimbledon.
“To describe the scene which followed—the vexation of the Westminster
electors, the mortification of the _Moorfields Cavalry_, and the
despair of ‘_The Hope_,’ in adequate colours, is impossible. Petrified
by the news, for some time they remained on the spot undetermined
how to act, and affecting to disbelieve the report. Unwilling,
however, to be disappointed of their fondest hope—that of showing
_themselves_—they determined on going through the streets in
procession, though they could not accompany Sir Francis. The pageant
accordingly commenced, the _empty_ vehicle intended for Sir Francis
took that part in the procession which he was to have taken, and the
rational part of the mob consoled themselves by reflecting that, as
they had originally set out to accompany _emptiness_ they were not
altogether disappointed.
“It was now proposed by some of the mob, that as they could not have
the honour of escorting Sir Francis Burdett from the Tower, they should
conclude the day by conducting MR. GALE JONES from Newgate, and he,
shortly after, fell into the procession in a hackney coach.
“On the arrival of the procession in Piccadilly, it went off to the
northward, and the vehicles returned by a different route from that
which they went. The whole of the streets and windows were crowded,
from Tower Hill, to Piccadilly.
“About one o’clock a party of Burdettites from Soho, with blue cockades
and colours flying, proceeded down Catherine Street, and the Strand,
for the City. They marched two and two. At Catherine Street they were
met by the 12th Light Dragoons on their way to Hyde Park Corner. The
music of the former was playing _St. Patrick’s Day_. The Band of the
Dragoons immediately struck up _God save the King_. The 14th Light
Dragoons followed the 12th; both regiments mustering very strong. All
the Volunteers were under orders; and the Firemen belonging to the
several Insurance Offices paraded the streets, with music, acting as
constables.”
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