Produced by David Widger
THE HISTORY OF THE LAST TRIAL BY JURY FOR ATHEISM IN ENGLAND:
A Fragment of Autobiography
Submitted For The Perusal Of Her Majesty's Attorney-General And The
British Clergy.
By George Jacob Holyoake
I was present in the court, to witness the trial of George Jacob
Holyoake. I heard Wooler and Hone defend themselves successfully in
1817; but I would prefer to be declared guilty with Holyoake to being
acquitted on the ground of Wooler and Hone.--Richard Carlile.
LONDON: JAMES WATSON, 3, QUEEN'S HEAD PASSAGE,
PATERNOSTER ROW. 1850.
TO
WILLIAM JOHN BIRCH, M.A.,
OF NEW INN HALL, OXON.
IN WHOM FREE DISCUSSION HAS FOUND
AN ACCOMPLISHED DEFENDER AND MUNIFICENT FRIEND;
WHO WAS FIRST TO HELP US
WHEN A FRIEND IS TWICE A FRIEND,
WHEN WE WERE UNKNOWN AND STRUGGLING;
THIS HISTORY OF SIX MONTHS IMPRISONMENT
PREFACE.
The events, more than half of which are newly narrated in this
'History,' are recited from recollection. It is not pretended that all
the conversations took place with the brevity with which they are
given here. In the lapse of eight years there is much which I must have
forgotten; but what I have told I distinctly remember, and the actors
living will not, I think, contradict it.
As, by a creditable improvement in English law, the recommencement
of prosecutions for (ir)religious opinion can originate with the
Attorney-General alone, I have ventured to hope that, if this narrative
should fall into the hands of that officer for the time being, it may
present some reasons to him why this 'Last Trial by Jury for Atheism'
should be the _last_.
There are some passages in these Fragments over which some will be sad
with me. Others will assume them to be written for effect; for such, let
me say, they were not written at all. These pages will leave me for the
press with much more pleasure if I can believe that no one will connect
them with me, but read them as a posthumous record of bygone events. At
times I thought I would omit all incidents of feeling; but I felt, that
if I did so the narrative would not represent the whole (personal) truth
of these proceedings--and, as they stand, they may serve to suggest to
some a doubt of the correctness of the oft-repeated dictum of the Rev.
Robert Hall, that 'Atheism is a bloody and a ferocious system,
which finds nothing above us to excite awe, nor around us to awaken
tenderness.'
Whether these are sufficient reasons for the purpose, I know not; but
this I know--they are the true ones. As I very much dislike being
an object of pity, those will much mistake me who suppose that this
narrative has been written to excite it. In my estimation, imprisonment
was a matter of conscience. I neither provoked prosecution nor shrank
from it; and I am now as far from desiring it as I trust I ever shall
be from fearing it. I do not pretend to despise public approval, but
I think it should be regarded as a contingent reward, not as the sole
motive of action; for he who only works while the public (always fickle
in memory) care to remember him, is animated by a very precarious
patriotism. As I have once, before said, it is an encouragement to
me that others may profit by any public principle I may assist in
maintaining: but my interest in it is personal also. Though no one
else desired freedom, it is enough for me that I desire it; and I would
maintain the conflict for it, as best I could, though no one else cared
about it; and, as I choose to make the purchase, I do not higgle
about the price. Tyranny has its soldiers, and why not Freedom? While
thousands daily perish at the shrine of passion, what is the pain of a
sacrifice now and then for public principle or personal freedom?
G. J. H.
THE HISTORY OF THE LAST TRIAL BY JURY FOR ATHEISM.
CHAPTER I.--BEFORE THE IMPRISONMENT.
That day is chilled in my memory when I first set out for Cheltenham.
It was in December 1840. The snow had been frozen on the ground a
fortnight. There were three of us, Mrs. Holyoake, Madeline (our first
child), and myself. I had been residing in Worcester, which was the
first station to which I had been appointed as a Social Missionary. My
salary (16s. per week) was barely sufficient to keep us alive in summer.
In winter it was inherent obstinacy alone which made us believe that we
existed. I feel now the fierce blast which came in at the train windows
from 'the fields of Tewkesbury,' on the day on which we travelled from
Worcester to Cheltenham. The intense cold wrapped us round like a cloak
of ice.
The shop lights threw their red glare over the snow-bedded ground as we
entered the town of Cheltenham, and nothing but the drift and ourselves
moved through the deserted streets. When at last we found a fire we had
to wait to thaw before we could begin to speak. When tea was over we
were-escorted to the house where we were to stay for the night. I was
told it was 'a friend's house.' Cheltenham is a fashionable town, a
watering, visiting place, where everything is genteel and thin. As the
parlours of some prudent house-wives are kept for show, and not to sit
in, so in Cheltenham numerous houses are kept 'to be let,' and not
to live in. The people who belong to the apartments are like the
supernumeraries on a stage, they are employed in walking over them.
Their clothes are decent--but they cannot properly be said to wear them:
they carry them about with them (on their backs of course, because that
mode is most convenient) but simply to show that they have such things.
In the same manner eating and drinking is partly pantomime, and not a
received reality. Such a house as I have suggested was the 'friend's
house' to which we were conducted till lodgings could be found. We were
asked to sit by the kitchen fire on 'the bench in the corner,' and there
we sat from eight till one o'clock, without being asked to take anything
to eat. Madeline, deprived of her usual rest, continued sucking at
the breast till her mother was literally too exhausted to speak.
A neighbouring festivity kept my 'friends' up that night till two
o'clock--up to which time we saw no prospect of bed or supper. As we
entered the house, Eleanor, with a woman's prescience, said 'George, you
had better go and buy some food.' 'Buy food,' I replied, in simplicity,
'the people at this fine house will be outraged to see me bring in
food.' Retribution was not far off. I repented me of my credulity that
night. When at last I clearly comprehended that we were to have nothing
to eat, I proceeded to take affairs into my own hands, and being too
well assured of the insensibility of my host, I did it in a way that I
conceived suited to his capacity, and began as follows:
'We have talked all night about social progress, and if you have
no objection we will make some. And if eating,' I added, 'be not an
irregular thing in your house, we will take some supper.'
'I am very sorry to say,' he answered, 'we have nothing to offer you.'
'Charge me bed and board while we are with you,' I rejoined, 'but let us
have _both_. You have bread, I suppose?'
'We have some rice bread.'
'Perhaps you will toast it.' 'Will you have it _toasted?_
'I will. Could you not make coffee?'
'We have no coffee.'
'Tea?'
'We have no tea.' 'Any water?'
'No _hot _water.'
'Any butter?'
'Yes, we have _salt_ butter.'
'Then put some on the bread,' I added, for he did not even propose to do
that. I had to dispute every inch of hospitality with him. My 'friend,'
Mr. V., was an instance of that misplacement of which Plato speaks
in his 'Republic' What a capital Conservative he would have made! No
innovation with him--not even into his own loaf! I was obliged to take
the initiative into the 'salt' butter.
After seeing the bread toasted, and buttering it myself, to make sure
that it was buttered, I put on my hat and went into the streets, in
search of material out of which to manufacture a cordial, for eight
hours had then elapsed since Eleanor had had any sustenance, and my
good host's choice reserve of cold water did not seem quite adequate to
revive her.
When I reached the dark streets, to which I was so absolute a stranger,
not knowing where I stood on the slippery ground, made so by frozen rain
on a bedding of snow, I had not gone (or rather _slipped_) far before I
was fairly lost. Like the sense in a Rousseauian love-letter, I neither
knew whence I came nor whither I was going, and when I succeeded in my
errand it was at the last place at which I should wish to be found.
During my absence that voluptuous caterer, 'mine host,' whom I had left
behind--whose counterpart Maginn must have had before him when he drew
the portrait of 'Quarantotti'--had proceeded so far as to boil some
water. The evening ended without inconsistency, and the bed corresponded
with the supper.
The next day I took lodgings, where, expecting nothing, I was no longer
disappointed. But on this occasion, profiting by the experience of
the preceding night, I went provided with a small stock of loaves and
chocolate. My stay in Cheltenham was more agreeable than was to be
expected after such an introduction; but I remember that I had to pay my
expenses back again, and though they only amounted to 12s., I felt the
want of them for a long time afterwards. Yet Cheltenham was not without
generous partizans, but, as is common in the incipiency of opinion, they
were at that time among that class who had fewest means. The experience
here recounted was a sample of that frequently recurring, but not
exactly of the kind on which vanity is nurtured, as the reader will
think as he reverts (from a speech to be recited) to these incidents. He
who reads thus far will acquit me of any premeditation of disturbing the
peace of the religious inhabitants of Cheltenham, for it is certainly
the last town I should have selected as the scene of such an occurrence
as the one which I have to narrate.
My next location was in a northern manufacturing town, where I was
treated like its iron-ware--case hardened. My salary there of 30s. per
week was a subject of frequent discussion by the members of the Branch.
For this sum I taught a Day School and lectured on Sunday. And as he
who lives the life of a child all the week (as he must do who teaches
children to any purpose) finds it hard to live that of a man on Sunday,
my duties were wearying and perplexing. Those who grudged my salary made
no sufficient allowance for that application necessary for the discharge
of my duties--an application which often commenced long before they were
up in the morning, and continued long after their mechanical employment
was over at night. Not comprehending myself, at that time, that they
who work for the improvement of others must not calculate on their
appreciation as an encouragement, but as a _result_, I was thrown into
that unpleasant state in which my pride incited me to stop and my duty
to go on. It was not till subsequent to my return from Glasgow, four
years afterwards, that I mastered the problem thus raised which so many
have been ruined in solving. Though an Anti-Priest, my treatment
was that of a priest. My congregation, as is the case with most
Freethinkers, objected to the pay of the priest, when the true quarrel
was with error, and not with payment: for if a man has the truth, it is
well that it should be his interest to hold it. But Dissent, objecting
to the pay of others, has been left without pay itself--hence its
apostles have been reduced to fight the lowest battles of animal wants,
when they should have been fighting for the truth. Dissent has too
often paid its advocates the bad compliment of supposing, that if placed
within reach of competence they would either fall into indolence or
hypocrisy. It has acted practically upon the hypothesis, that the only
possible way of ensuring their zeal and sincerity was to starve them--a
policy which leaves progress to the mercy of accident. For a long period
the operation of this policy chilled me. My initiation into affairs of
progress was in company with men who estimated, above all other virtues,
the virtue which worked for nothing. They would denounce the patriotism
of that man who accepted a shilling for making a speech, although it had
cost him more to compose it than those who heard it would probably give
to save their country. Nine tenths of the best public men and women I
have known, have turned back at this point. Not any new conviction--not
any bribe of the enemy, but the natural though unwise revolt against
being considered mendicants, has forced them back into supineness,
indifference, or even into the very ranks of oppression. True, I felt
that he who labours with his brains is worthy of his hire as well as
he who labours with his hands. As often as I read a book or heard a
lecture, which threw new light on the paths of life, I found that it not
only relieved me from the dominion of ignorance, but imparted to me the
strength of intelligence. I felt indebted to the author and speaker, for
I found that knowledge was not only _power_, but _property_. I knew all
this, but painful years passed over me before I acquired the courage
to offer what instruction I had to impart as an article of commercial
value. Those who have encountered this kind of experience know that the
feeling it engenders is one of indifference, and that an unusual
speech would arise in a cold sense of duty, and not in wantonness or
wickedness. Thus much will inform the reader of the circumstances under
which I spoke the alleged blasphemy in Cheltenham.
A fellow-missionary, Mr. Charles Southwell, had, in conjunction with
Mr. Chilton and Mr. Field, set up an Atheistical periodical in Bristol,
entitled the _Oracle of Reason_--which the authorities attempting
forcibly to put down, Mr. Southwell was sentenced to twelve months'
imprisonment in Bristol Gaol. On a visit to him I walked ninety miles
from Birmingham to Bristol, and as my way lay through Cheltenham, I
staid a night in that town to deliver a lecture on 'Home Colonisation as
a means of superseding Poor Laws and Emigration.' At the conclusion of
the lecture I instructed the chairman to make the announcement, which
I still make after my lectures, viz., that any of the audience may
put relevant questions or offer what objections they consider
useful--whereupon a person stood up of the name of Maitland, a
teetotaller, and sort of local preacher, and complained that 'though I
had told them their duty to man, I had not told them of their duty
to God,' and inquired 'whether we should have churches and chapels in
community?'
I answered thus: 'I do not desire to have religion mixed up with an
economical and secular subject, but as Mr. Maitland has introduced
questions in reference to religion I will answer him frankly. Our
national debt already hangs like a millstone round the poor man's neck,
and our national church and general religious institutions cost us, upon
accredited computation, about twenty millions annually. Worship being
thus expensive, I appeal to your heads and your pockets whether we are
not too poor to have a God? If poor men cost the state as much, they
would be put like officers upon half-pay, and while our distress lasts
I think it would be wise to do the same thing with deity. Thus far
I object, as a matter of political economy, to build chapels in
communities. If others want them they have themselves to please, but I,
not being religious, cannot propose them. Morality I regard, but I do
not believe there is such a thing as a God.* The pulpit says "Search the
Scriptures," and they who are thus trepanned get imprisoned in Bristol
jail, like my friend Mr. Southwell. For myself, I flee the Bible as a
viper, and revolt at the touch of a Christian.'
Perhaps this reply was indecorous, but it was nothing more, and as it
was delivered in a tone of conversational freedom, it produced only
quiet amusement on the meeting. The next day I continued my journey
to Bristol. A day or two after I received the _Cheltenham Chronicle_,
commonly called the Rev. Francis Close's paper, it being the organ of
his party, in which I read the following paragraph--written with that
exaggerated virulence which Archdeacon Hare has subsequently deprecated
as the bane of religious journalism, but which at that time was
considered as a holy ornament:--
* I do not remember using this phrase, but as the witnesses
reported it perhaps it was so; but I still incline to the
opinion that it was an expression they fell upon in stating
their impressions of the meeting to their employers, and all
working in one office, they fell into one story, either
through inadvertence or from precaution.
Atheism and Blasphemy.--On Tuesday evening last a person named Holyoake,
from Manchester, (?) delivered a lecture on Socialism (or, as it
has been more appropriately termed, devilism), at the Mechanics'
Institution. After attacking the Church of England and religion
generally for a considerable time, he said he was open to any question
that might be put to him. A teetotaller named Maitland then got up, and
said the lecturer had been talking a good deal about our duty to man,
but he omitted to mention our duty towards God, and he would be glad
to know if there were any chapels in the community? The Socialist then
replied that he professed no religion at all, and thought they were too
poor to have any. He did not believe there was such a being as a God,
and impiously remarked that _if there was_* he would have the deity
served the same as government treated the subalterns, by placing him
upon half-pay. With many similar blasphemous and awful remarks, which
we cannot sully our columns by repeating, the poor misguided wretch
continued to address the audience. To their lasting shame, be it spoke,
a considerable portion of the company applauded the miscreant during the
time he was giving utterance to these profane opinions.
We have three persons in our employ who are ready to verify on oath
the correctness of the above statements. We therefore hope those in
authority will not suffer the matter to rest here, but that some steps
will immediately he taken to prevent any further publicity to such
diabolical sentiments.--Ed. Cheltenham Chronicle.*
* This is an interpolation.
Some have censured the openness of my answer to Mr. Maitland as being
inexpedient. It is not impossible to justify it on that ground, but I
have an aversion to do it. Expediency has nothing to do with what a man
shall say. Expediency may close the mouth, but it has no power over the
speech if the mouth once opens. A man may keep silence if he chooses,
but if he does speak he has no alternative but to speak that which is
frank and true. But at that time there were political reasons why
I should not evade the question put to me. The _Odd Fellow_ of Mr.
Hetherington (under the editorship of W. J. Linton) had shortly before
contained an able article beginning thus:--
The world need not be much frightened at the present race of Socialists.
However heinous their doctrines may be thought, there need be no fear,
they will not act in too close accordance with them. For ourselves,
having been among them at various times, we have never yet been able
to discover any certain marks, whether of manner, of opinion, or
of conduct, whereby to distinguish them from the mass of professing
Christians. However heterodox their innermost sentiments, they usually
maintain as decent an appearance of conformity with custom as the most
worldly and orthodox could desire.
This was a character which no progressive party could live with, and
as the hypocrisy here charged upon us was generally believed, and not
wholly without reason, it became necessary either to give up the party
or refute the accusation. The attack on Mr. Owen's friends, by the
Bishop of Exeter in the House of Lords, had been evaded, not met, and a
noble opportunity, such as bigotry seldom affords to a rising party,
had been suffered to pass away unused. The enemy triumphed. In this
very town of Cheltenham a young poet, named Sperry, who betrayed
freethink-ing tendencies, had been called upon to recant. He did so,
and then he was treated with contempt by those who intimidated him.
They first destroyed his moral influence, and then despised him. I had
therefore sufficient public reasons for not tempting a similar fate.
If I had refused to reply, it would have been said I held opinions too
horrible to avow. Had I evaded the answer I should have been considered
a time-server, and if I answered frankly there were the legal
consequences in prospect. I was not very much skilled in policy, but
I knew this much that when a man cannot take care of consequences, he
ought to take care of the credit of his cause. A little anticipating
this history I may say that the expediency of the course I took, if
the expediency must be defended, was shown in the altered tone of the
authorities, both in Cheltenham and Gloucester, after my trial. Instead
of that contempt with which persons holding Socialist opinions are
treated, there was a somewhat respectful recognition of them. However
crude might be considered my defence of my views, nothing escaped me
that could be distorted into a willingness to avoid any suffering at the
expense of my adherence to the principles I had adopted. Many persons
who would not have spoken to me before came and expressed regret at what
had happened, and I met with many instances of regard from persons who
had formerly despised those with whom I acted.
I was indebted to the _Odd-Fellow_ of July 23, then edited by Eben
Jones, author of 'Studies of Sensation and Event,' for the fairest
statement of my conduct and of the point in question, which the press
gave. It was thus expressed:--
We cannot refrain from saying, that under the peculiar circumstances,
Mr. Holyoake (presuming his disbelief in a God to be sincere) could not
have said other than he did say, and at the same time have continued
honest. It is true he was not asked, 'Do you believe in a God?' but a
question was put to him which assumed his belief in a God, and had he
not testified at once his disbelief, he would have sanctioned the false
assumption: and if not a liar, would have been at least the permitter of
a lie; between which is no distinction recognised by an honourable man.
In arguing thus we would not express any sympathy whatever with Mr.
Holyoake's atheism, we are merely concerned to show that it was not Mr.
Holyoake's right alone, but absolutely his duty, to say that 'he did
not believe in a God.' It was his duty, if it be the duty of man to be
honest; he could not have spoken otherwise, unless he had 'lied against
his heart,' and lied towards mankind.
The next number of the aforesaid _Cheltenham Chronicle_ brought me this
further notice:--
Holyoake the Blasphemous Socialist Lecturer.--In reference to a
paragraph which appeared in the last _Chronicle_ regarding this monster,
the magistrates read the article alluded to, and expressed their opinion
that it was a clear case of blasphemy. In order to check the further
progress of his pernicious doctrines, the superintendent of police was
ordered to use every exertion to bring him to justice.
On reading this paragraph I lost no time in setting out for Cheltenham,
to hold a public meeting and justify myself to the town. Foot-sore and
weary--for the journey was more than thirty miles, and the day very
hot--I reached Cheltenham on the 1st of June, and proceeded as privately
as a 'monster' could to my friends the Adamses. The next night I slid
like sleep into the meeting, lest the police should prevent me from
addressing it. Mr. Leech, a leading Chartist, presided, and the meeting
was addressed by Messrs. Parker, jun., Geo. Adams, W. Bilson, and J. B.
Lear. The Chartists of Cheltenham at that time held possession of the
Mechanics' Institution, and they were threatened with the loss of it,
if they let it to me to speak in any more. But as I required it in
self-defence they generously disregarded the menace, and permitted me
the use of it. My friends in the distant town of Newcastle-upon-Tyne
afterwards gracefully acknowledged this kindness by making a collection
for Mrs. Holberry, the wife of a Sheffield Chartist who had perished in
prison. Before I had been long in the meeting, Superintendent Russell
came in with about a dozen men, who were arranged on each side the door,
and their glazed hats formed a brilliant, but a dubious back-ground for
a meeting on Free-Discussion. I spoke an hour after they came in. So
rare an audience was not to be thrown away, and I thought we might
convert some of them. At the conclusion Superintendent Russell, who
had the politeness to wait till we had done, intimated that he had
instructions to apprehend me. I asked for his warrant. He said he had
none. It was in vain that I protested against the irregularity of
the proceeding. He replied that his instructions were imperative upon
him--and it was thereupon arranged that I should walk down to the
station with Mr. Hollis, a well-known gun maker of Cheltenham, and
there, the meeting following, we arrived in procession between eleven
and twelve o'clock.
To the truth, it is no great proof _a posteriori_ of a man's
extravagance, that he should be involved in legal proceedings in
Cheltenham on account of freedom of speech. Owing to priestly and
conventional influences, that town will furnish a jury who would,
under direction, bring in any man guilty of blasphemy who boiled his
tea-kettle on a Sunday. Not long before the time now spoken of, a Mormon
preacher, holding forth there, happened to say that the Elements of
Euclid were as true as the Bible: and for this he was indicted for
blasphemy, and was only saved from imprisonment by the grand jury (who
must have had infidel tendencies) throwing out the bill.
On the morning after my apprehension I was taken before the Rev. Dr.
Newell, R. Capper, and J. Overbury, Esquires, magistrates of Cheltenham.
The Rev. Dr. Newell ought to have had the pride, if not the decency, to
have kept away.
The _Cheltenham Chronicle_ reported that' George Jacob Holyoake, who was
described as a Socialist lecturer, and as the editor of the _Oracle
of Reason_, was charged with delivering atheistical and blasphemous
sentiments at the Mechanics' Institution, on the evening of the 24th
of May. The prisoner had been apprehended last night, after delivering
another lecture at the same place. The affair appeared to have caused
great sensation, and several persons attended at the office anxious
to hear the examination. Amongst the number were some individuals
who, without the blush of shame mantling their cheeks, acknowledged
themselves friends of the accused.'
Mr. Bubb, a local solicitor, a particularly gross and furious man, then
said--'I attend to prefer the charge of blasphemy, and I shall take my
stand on the common unwritten law of the land. There have been a variety
of statutes passed for punishing blasphemy, but these statutes in no way
interfere with the common unwritten law. (Mr. Capper nodded assent.)*
Any person who denies the existence or providence of God is guilty
of blasphemy, and the law has annexed to that offence imprisonment,
corporal punishment, and fine. I shall give evidence of the facts, and
I shall ask that he be committed for trial, or required to find bail for
his appearance. The offence is much aggravated by his having put forth
a placard, announcing a lecture on a subject completely innocent, and
having got together a number of persons, has given utterance to those
sentiments which are an insult to God and man.'
* Mr. Bubb took his stand on the common law because his
object was to make it a _sessions_ case, and to take it out
of the statuary law, which (9 & 10 Will. 3, c. 32) would
have required that information of the words spoken should be
laid before a justice of the peace within four days from
their utterance, and would likewise have implied a trial at
the _assizes_.
The assertion that I had employed duplicity in choosing my subject was
quite gratuitous. Addressing the Bench, I asked whether it was legal in
these cases to apprehend persons without the authority of a warrant?
Mr. Capper replied, 'Any person in the meeting would be justified in
taking you up without the authority of a warrant,' which showed that
the Bench were better read in Bigotry than in Blackstone. I said it was
customary in other towns, where bigotry existed to a greater degree
even than it did there, for information to be laid and a regular notice
served.
Mr. Capper said, 'We refuse to hold an argument with a man professing
the abominable principle of denying the existence of a supreme Being,'
This was not a very legal way of getting rid of my objections, but it
answered in Cheltenham.
Two witnesses, James Bartram and William Henry Pearce, both of the
_Chronicle_ office, were adduced to report the words that formed the
ground of the indictment. Neither of them could recollect anything else
but the objectionable words reported in their own paper, and to these
they did not swear positively, but only to the 'best of their belief.'
Mr. Pearce was not produced at the trial at the Assizes, he having no
local reputation but that of a dog-fancier and fighter, which did not
render him a creditable authority on matters pertaining to religion.
Bartram's sister was a Socialist, and she came to me some years after,
in Manchester, to apologise for the disgrace brought upon her family by
the weakness or the ignorance of her brother.
Mr. Overbury said he considered the case satisfactorily proved, and
added, 'Whether you are of no religion _is of very little consequence to
us_, but your attempt to propagate the infamous sentiment that there is
no God, is calculated to produce disorder and confusion, and is a breach
of the peace.' This was the remark of an ill-informed politician rather
than of a Christian.
Being required to enter into my own recognizances of L100, and find
two sureties of L50 each, Mr. Partridge became one, and Mr. Henry Fry,
editor of the _Educational Circular_, offered himself as the other. But
the Rev. Dr. Newell objected to Mr. Fry's bail, on the ground that he
did not swear positively that he was worth L50 when all his debts
were paid. He swore only that 'to the best of his belief he was so. I
reminded the Bench that they had accepted the evidence of the witnesses
against me on the same ground, namely 'the best of their belief.'
Hereupon the Rev. Dr. Newell, with an air of outraged morality,
exclaimed 'Come, come! we'll have no quibbling.'
I answered that I did not propose to quibble, for if that had been to my
taste I might have avoided standing there at that moment. Mr. Bubb then
interjected that he should demand twenty-four hours' notice of bail.
Another gentleman then offered himself, whom I desired to sit down and
let the Bench take their own course. This indifference with regard to
the Bench incensed them very much.
Mr. Capper said, 'Even the heathens acknowledged the existence of a
Deity. If you entertain the same pernicious opinion on your death-bed
you will be a bold man indeed. But you are only actuated by a love of
notoriety.' I only answered, 'Why do you address me thus, since you will
not allow me to reply?' and I turned away repeating to myself the words
of Sir Thomas Browne--'There is a rabble amongst the gentry as well as
the commonalty; a sort of plebeian heads, whose fancy moves with the
same wheel as these: men in the same level with mechanics, though their
fortunes do somewhat gild their infirmities, and their purses compound,
for their follies.'
But I ought to say that during these proceedings the people in the
court, of juster feeling than the magistrates, frequently expressed
their disapprobation of the speeches made to me.
Mr. Capper's assertion that I was only actuated by a love of notoriety,
were just the words to do me injury. The respectable people near, and
the intelligent people at a distance, would believe the magistrate and
disbelieve the sceptic, who had no friends to rebut the imputation. The
vulgar bearing of this brutal old man lingered long in my memory as the
most distinct thing of these proceedings. I should have thought less
of it had it not come from an old man. The aged always inspire me with
reverence, in their kindly aspects. They are the links which nature
perpetuates between old time and our time--the human chroniclers of an
experience the young can never know. They have followed the hearse of
the old world, and are the legatees of Time, who has bequeathed to them
his secrets and his conquests, which they in their turn distribute to
us. When living at Islington, in 1848, I frequently passed, but not
without sadness, nor sometimes without tears, an old man who stood near
the Merlin's Cave to beg. He resembled one whom I cannot name. I could
see on his brow the fresh traces of a struggle still going on between
dignity and destitution. And I often gave him the price of the biscuit
intended for my dinner, in the secret hope we all have in a kind act
that some one else may repeat it to those we love; and I indulged the
hope that others might approach with the same respectful feelings him
to whom I have alluded, if ever, with untamed pride and broken heart,
he should stand in his grey hairs on the high way to beg--which I have
dreaded through so many years.
When taken back to the station-house, Captain Lefroy, who was at the
head of the police, introduced me to Mr. Pinching, surgeon of the same
corps. The captain, in a gentlemanly way, inquired if I would allow
Mr. Pinching to reason with me on my opinions? I said, 'Certainly.'
Mr. Pinching asked me the irrelevant question 'Did I believe in Jesus
Christ?' and began a dry, historical argument to prove that there was
the same evidence for the existence of Jesus Christ as for that of Henry
the Fourth. I said, 'The argument is unnecessary with me. I do not care
to argue whether he existed or not. My inquiry is not whether he lived,
but what he _said._' Mr. Pinching's next speech was delivered with an
air of sharp authority, and he began to address me rather rudely.
He asked me was it not Robert Owen who made me an atheist? I replied,
Mr. Owen himself was not an atheist. For myself, I had not become
so till after the imprisonment of Mr. Southwell, which had led me to
inquire into the grounds of religious opinion more closely than I had
before done, and it had ended in my entire disbelief.
Mr. Pinching now became impatient and abusive, allowing me no
opportunity of replying, and I said 'Stop! stop! sir, you must not treat
me as a prisoner if you intend me to hear you. Unless you converse with
me upon equal terms I shall not answer you.' Lefroy laughed, and said,
'Come! come! Pinching, I think you are not quite fair. After this Mr.
Pinching became more abusive, and I turned away--when he ended the
conversation by saying, 'I am only sorry the day is gone by when we
could send you and Owen of Lanark to the stake instead of to Gloucester
gaol.'
Not allowed to wait twenty-four hours to see if I could obtain bail,
I was soon after sent off to Gloucester, nine miles away, the same
afternoon, where the difficulty of negotiating my release was so much
increased that it took me a fortnight to do it.
After my conversation with Mr. Pinching I was shut up in a very filthy
place with a lousy man. I was handcuffed with small old irons that
pinched my wrists, and I begged to have another pair of handcuffs put
on, which was done: then I was made to walk through Cheltenham town and
suburbs, and afterwards through Gloucester city, with the hand irons on.
As I had walked thirty miles to be apprehended, they had no reason
to suspect me of making my escape; nor was it customary to handcuff
prisoners conveyed to Gloucester on foot. In my case it was done to pain
and degrade me.
A memorial of a public meeting, sent from the town of Cheltenham to
the House of Commons, on this subject, stated 'That notwithstanding Mr.
Holyoake offered no resistance to any officer or procedure, and was at
the same time in very delicate health and much exhausted, yet it was
deemed necessary to lock both his hands in irons and make him walk to
Gloucester--a distance of near nine miles--on a most sultry day, but
on the way thither his friends interfered and obtained leave for him to
ride, on condition only that they should pay his expenses as well as the
expenses of two policemen to accompany him.' And it may be added that
though I sat an hour at the station, waiting for the train, my hands
were not unlocked.
The same memorial also alleged 'That the conduct of the magistrates
during the proceedings indicated a predisposition to punish Mr.
Holyoake, independently of any evidence which he might have offered in
defence of his own conduct.'
The Member for Bath, to whom this memorial was entrusted, paid to it the
most generous attention, and immediately returned the following reply:--
London, June 23rd, 1842.
Sir,--The petition you sent me is of a nature that demands serious
inquiry, and I thought I should best discharge my duty towards the
petitioners and Mr. Holyoake by at once addressing myself to Sir James
Graham. He has very promptly taken up the inquiry, and I have no doubt
but that substantial justice will be done. If, however, the petitioners
should hereafter deem that justice has not been done, I can present
their petition after the inquiry which has been undertaken by the Home
Secretary has been closed. I have taken this liberty with the petition
on my own responsibility, hoping that the petitioners will here trust
to my discretion, and they for the moment will put confidence in
my judgment. I will write you word so soon as I hear from the Home
Secretary, who has now the petition in his hands for the purpose of
immediately instituting a searching inquiry.
I am, sir, your obedient servant,
Mr. H. Fry. J. A. Roebuck.
The committal the police bore with them was to the following effect:--
[Gloucestershire to wit.]--To all and every of the constables and other
officers of the peace for the said county, and to the keeper of the gaol
at Gloucester in the said county--
Whereas George Jacob Holyoake is now brought before us, three of Her
Majesty's Justices of the Peace in and for the said county, and charged,
on the oaths of James Bertram and William Henry Pearce, with having, on
the twenty-forth day of May last, at the parish of Cheltenham in
the said county, wickedly and profanely uttered, made use of, and
proclaimed, in the presence of a public assembly of men, women, and
children, then and there assembled, certain impious and blasphemous
words against God, and of and concerning the Christian religion, to wit,
'That he was of no religion at all,' and 'that he did not believe there
was such a thing as a God,' and 'that if he could have his way he would
place the Deity on half-pay, as the government of this country did the
subaltern officers,' against the peace of our lady the Queen, her crown
and dignity. And whereas we, the said justices, have required the said
George Jacob Holyoake to become bound in the sum of one hundred pounds,
and to find two sufficient sureties in the sum of fifty pounds each,
conditioned for the appearance of the said George Jacob Holyoake at the
next Quarter Sessions of the peace, to be holden at Gloucester, in
and for the said county, and then and there to answer to any bill of
indictment that may be preferred against him for his said offence, which
he hath neglected to do.
These are therefore in Her Majesty's name to command you, and every of
you the said constables, forthwith safely to convey and deliver into the
custody of the keeper of the said gaol the body of the said George Jacob
Holyoake.
And you, the said keeper, are hereby required to receive the said George
Jacob Holyoake into your said custody, and him safely keep until
the said next general Quarter Sessions of the peace, to be holden at
Gloucester, in and for the said county, or until he become bound and
finds such sureties as aforesaid, or until he shall be thence delivered
by due course of law. And for your so doing this shall be to you and
every of you a sufficient warrant.
Given under our hands and seals the third day of June, in the year of
our Lord One Thousand Eight Hundred and Forty-two.
Robt. Capper, J. B. Newell, Joseph Overbury.
Twenty-four hours' notice of bail to be given.
I hereby certify that the above is a true 'copy' of a warrant, by virtue
of which the within named George Jacob Holyoake was brought into custody
the 3rd day of June, 1842. Witness my hand,
Thomas Moore, Clerk to the county gaol of Gloucester.
Some of the magistrates characterised the speech for which I was
committed as 'Felony,' 'a breach of the peace,' etc., and I was told
that my committal was made out for 'felony.' Serious comments were made
thereupon by the public. Able strictures on the subject were made by
'Philo Publicola,' in the _Weekly Dispatch_. But the magistrates grew
wiser as they grew cooler, and on the copy of the committal subsequently
furnished to me, the charge of felony did not appear.
A very curious circumstance deserves mentioning here. The magistrates
being censured in the House of Commons for their 'irregularities' in my
case (as will be explained in my defence further on) an attempt was
made to fix the blame on Mr. Russell, superintendent of the police.
This induced me to address the following letter to the editor of the
_Cheltenham Free Press_:--
Sir,--Observing an attempt has been made in Parliament by the Hon.
Craven Berkley to fix the blame of my 'harsh treatment' on the
constables of your town, and to implicate Superintendent Russell, I beg
to say that after my committal I never saw Mr. Russell, and never once
said, or suspected, that the harshness exercised towards me, while
ostensibly in his custody, originated with him. His courtesy to me on
the night of my apprehension, of which I retain a lively sense, forbids
such a conclusion.
I shall be glad if you will insert this in your next number. I can never
consent to purchase public sympathy by a silence which may unjustly
sacrifice any person's interest. I was justified in making the
complaints I have, but would rather they were for ever unredressed than
that an innocent man should suffer.
Birmingham, July 30, 1842. G. Jacob Holyoake.
Soon after Mr. Russell left the corps, and appears to have been offered
up by the magistrates as a sacrifice for the irregularities _they_ had
committed.
On my arrival my pockets were searched, and even my pocket-book and
letters taken from me. This I felt not only as an indignity, but also as
a breach of faith. Before leaving Cheltenham, and when in communication
with my friends, I inquired if my papers would be taken from me at
Gloucester, and the officers answered 'No,' (but they must have known
differently). Trusting their answer, however, I brought with me papers I
should not otherwise have brought. Perhaps I was fevered after my walk,
but the cell I was put into gave me a new sense. There had been times
when I had wished for a sixth sense, but this was not the sense I
coveted, for it was a sense of suffocation. The bed was so filthy that
I could not lie down, and sat on the side all night. When taken into the
general room next morning the prisoners surrounded me, exclaiming,' What
are ye come for?' As I made no reply, another observed, 'We always
tells one another,' 'Oh! blasphemy,' I replied. 'What's that,' said one.
'Aren't you 'ligious?' said another.
But as these rustics were happily unacquainted with doctrinal piety,
they said nothing rude; and seeing my loaf unbroken, and that I could
not eat, 'Here,' said four or five at once, 'will you have some of this
tea, zir?'--which was mint-tea, the reward of some extra work, and the
nicest thing they had to offer.
When the chaplain of the gaol, the Rev. Robert Cooper, came to see me,
I told him that before I took anything from him for my soul, I wanted
something from him for my defence; and I demanded my note book and
papers. Mr. Samuel Jones, a visiting magistrate, brought me a few pencil
notes which I had made during my examination in Cheltenham and some
private papers, but he withheld many others relating to matters of
opinion, saying that _he_ 'did not think them necessary to my defence.'
The clergyman has a veto on all books admitted, and of a list which
I gave him, which I wanted to read for my trial, he only allowed me
thirteen. He said the others 'were of an unchristian character,' and
he could not let me have them. 'I told him I was not going to make an
orthodox defence. He would not relax, so I would not have any spiritual
consolation, and we lived on very indifferent terms.
One day Mr. Bransby Cooper, and Mr. Samuel Jones (just mentioned), both
old magistrates, came to visit me. Mr. Jones, I was told, had at one
time been a preacher among the Methodists. He told me he would be kind
to me, but all his kindness was religious kindness--the worst kindness
I have ever experienced. I was then the sole occupant of the Queen's
evidence side of the prison, a place I had chosen as I preferred to be
alone. I had a large yard and all the cells to myself. In this solitary
place these magistrates visited me. After teazing me with Leslie for a
long time, Mr. Bransby Cooper concluded thus--'Now! Holyoake, you are
a Deist--are you not?' I shook my head. 'You cannot be an atheist,' he
continued, 'you don't look like one.' He said this, I suppose, seeing no
horns on my head, and no eyes on my elbows, as he expected. I answered
that I felt very unpleasantly how much I was in their power, and had
therefore some reason to desire to oblige them. Though sorry to say what
might outrage them or look like obstinacy, yet out of respect to my own
conscience I must say that I _was_ an atheist. Upon these they both flew
into indignant revulsions, and shouted 'a fool! a fool!' till the roof
rang. Capt. Mason (the governor), who accompanied them, turned away
a few paces, with the air of one not caring to be witness of so much
rudeness.
* See Report of Gloucester Trinity Sessions in the county
papers of that period.
Before leaving they said of course I should employ counsel to defend
me. I answered, 'No, I should defend myself as well as I was able.
Barristers were not good at stating a case of conscience.' They urged,
they even coaxed me to abandon the idea of defending myself; but finding
me not to be deterred, they threatened me that it would aggravate my
case--reminded me of Hone and others, and said that the judge would put
me down and not hear me. This menace, as will be seen hereafter, did me
great harm. They reported my determination at the Trinity Sessions as
though it was a matter desirable to be averted.
Mr. Bransby Cooper was a brother of Sir Astley Cooper. He was formerly
member for Gloucester, and when he suspected that I did not regard his
dignity sufficiently, he would slide in some remark about 'his
friend' Sir James Graham, who was then Secretary of State for the Home
Department. Bransby Cooper was the senior magistrate at this time--a man
of venerable and commanding aspect, generous to a fault in matters of
humanity, harsh to a fault in matters of religion. On his way through
the city, old women would way-lay him to beg. First raising his stick
against them--then threatening to commit them as vagrants--they fled
from him in mock terror, but knowing the generous feelings of the man
they returned again, and before he reached home he would empty his
pockets among them. One minute he would growl at me like an unchained
tiger--the next he would utter some word of real sympathy, such as came
from no one else, and at the end of my imprisonment I parted from him
with something of regret. He had the voice of Stentor, and though at
first his savage roar shook me, at last I acquired an artistic liking
for it, and his voice was so grand that I came to the conclusion that
he had a natural right to be a brute. The old man, after his fashion,
laboured very hard for my conversion. His son Robert was chaplain of the
gaol, and had I happily been brought over, the old man would have
given the credit to his boy. My conversion was thus a sort of family
speculation.
Those who sent me to prison in default of bail, took care to make
bail impossible to me by intimidating those who would have become my
sureties, and after two weeks' anxiety I was obliged to accept the
generous offer of two friends in Worcester--James Barnes and John Dymond
Stevenson--to come from that city and enter into recognizances for
me, and I was indebted to them for my liberation, after sixteen days'
imprisonment.
So near was my trial upon my release that I had to return to Gloucester
within a fortnight. A great desire of my youth had been to see London.
When I found myself suddenly shut up in gaol, in prospect of an
indefinite term of imprisonment, which in my then state of health might
prove fatal, my sole remorse was that I had never seen that city of
my dreams. Once again at liberty I made a short visit to my family in
Birmingham, and the next week found me in London.
Chafed and sad, with tremulous heart and irresolute step, it seems but
yesterday that I walked through Woburn Place into the city in which I
now write. Its streets, its pride, its magnificence enthralled me, and
its very poverty fascinated me because nearer to my destiny. Savage and
Johnson had walked those squares houseless, and why not I. Chatterton
had perished in a garret, and garrets had something sacred in them.
Solitary in that two million multitude, I was hardly known to any one
in it, yet when I remembered that I was in London I felt an enchanted
gladness, and in all vicissitudes of fortune and chequered struggles
with fate, I have walked its magical streets with undimmed joy, and it
is to me still a fairy land, whose atmosphere of enchantment feels as if
it would never leave me.
How sweetly, how gratefully to me (as words never read before) came the
notice the _Weekly Dispatch_ gave of my first lecture in London. All
the night before I had sat up with Ryall, answering correspondence and
concerting my defence. When I reached the Rotunda it was more fitting
that I should have found a bed there than a rostrum, for when I rose to
speak I was weak as well as timid. To succeed in any way in London was
more than I ventured to expect, and the nature of the report in the
_Weekly Dispatch_ inspired me with the hope of at least being tolerated.
I hastened back to Gloucester. Either a Secretary of State's order, or
a Bill had come into operation, I was never correctly informed which,
removing my trial from the Sessions to the Assizes, which gave me an
impartial Judge to determine my case. At a Sessions' trial the parties
who had caused my imprisonment, and the magistrates who had shown
themselves my personal opponents, would have sat on the Bench to try me.
Though unable to proceed with my trial after having committed me, they
put me to the expense of bringing my bail from Worcester, and charged me
L1 9s. for renewing my sureties.
My arrest caused a demand for atheistical publications in Cheltenham,
which Mr. George Adams, partly as a friend to the free publication of
opinion and partly from personal friendship to me, undertook to supply.
In this he was joined by his wife, Harriet Adams, a very interesting
and courageous woman. On Monday evening, June 13th, at a public meeting
called to consider the grounds of my own apprehension, Mr. George Adams
was arrested for selling No. 25 of the _Oracle_, and forthwith conveyed
to the station-house. As soon as a knowledge of the arrest came to the
ears of Mrs. Adams, she went to the station-house to see her husband,
when she, likewise, was served with a warrant for selling No. 4. Mrs.
Adams says, (the account cannot be better rendered than in her own
words) 'I went to see my husband at the station-house, when I was
detained; a policeman was sent home with me to fetch my infant, and
I had to leave four at home in bed. The man that went with me to the
station was a rude fellow; he was quite abusive to me, telling me I
should be locked up from my husband; saying, it was quite time such
things were put a stop to. When we arrived at the station-house he would
have locked me in a cell with drunken women, had I not sat down in the
yard and insisted on seeing the superintendent, who then allowed me to
sit up in a kitchen, where policemen were coming in and out all night.
My husband was much troubled on my account.' The four children were left
locked up in the house alone.
Mr. Bubb's speech, when Adams was brought up, is so curious a relic of
provincial barbarism that I preserve it, or those who are told of it in
time to come will regard the story as some malicious fiction. Mr. Bubb
opened the charge by justifying himself and clients--'It has been said
that we are prosecuting here for the entertaining of opinions merely.
That proposition I deny. The entertaining of opinions is not opposed to
law if people keep them to, themselves. If they step out of the way, and
seek to propagate them by undermining the institutions of the country,
by denying the existence of a God, by robbing others of "the hopes set
before them," without offering the flimsiest pretext, it is the duty of
all to prevent this. Such is the opinion of those gentlemen who set on
foot these proceedings, and no clamour of persecution will prevent them
from doing what they believe to be their duty. And if there are any here
present disposed to take up this unfortunate trade, I would assure them
that as long as the law punishes, and the magistrates uphold the law, so
long will they bring offenders to justice. So long as men say there
is no God, or that the religion of the state is a farce and a fallacy,
these gentlemen will not be deterred by any clamour.' If this threat
were carried out the magistrates on every Bench would have constant
employment--especially if they would undertake, as Mr. Bubb appeared to
promise, to ascertain whether or not we had the 'flimsiest pretext' to
offer in defence of the course we took.
Adams and his wife were committed to take their trials at the
Sessions--in the wife's case it was purely vexatious, as there was
no one bound over to prosecute her. Yet Adams, nearly blind from an
inflammation of the eyes, and his wife with her child in her arms, were
kept several days in attendance at Gloucester--though the same law which
prevented the court proceeding in my case, prevented the court from
trying the Adamses. In further aggravation of loss, L1 17s. 6d. were
demanded for discharge of bail and entering new sureties--nor was time
allowed to fetch the bail (after they were demanded) from Cheltenham,
the clerk announcing that they would be estreated at once. Upon this I
directed Mr. and Mrs. Adams to go into court and say they were prepared
to take their trial _then_, and there was no occasion to estreat the
property of their friends. Time was then allowed.
Mrs. Adams was never tried. Mr. Adams's trial took place at Gloucester
assizes, immediately before my own.
The passage from No. 25 of the _Oracle_, for which Adams was
indicted, was written by my friend Mr. Chilton, who was outraged at my
imprisonment, and ran as follows:--
What else could be expected of men who deify a real or imaginary
individual, a compound of ambition and folly, of mock humility and
rampant tyranny; who, though called the 'Prince of Peace,' declared he
came to bring a sword in the world? This hellish mission he performed to
perfection, for never since his time has blood and misery ceased to flow
from his dogmas and mysteries.
As I was very anxious to save Adams from consequences which he incurred
through friendship to me, I advised him to let Mr. Thompson defend him.
This gentleman began by sympathising with all the disgust invented
by the counsel who opened the prosecution, and he ended by expressing
Adams's sorrow and contrition for what he had done--a contrition which
he did not feel, and would rather have undergone much imprisonment than
have had it said that he did. During the whole of the trials arising out
of the _Oracle_, Mr. Ralph Thomas, barrister, was the only counsel
who defended us in court without sacrificing us. Taking warning by Mr.
Thompson's example, I made it a rule to advise all our friends to defend
themselves, and where unaccustomed to public speaking, to write a brief
defence in their own language, and after some legal friend had revised
it, to read it to the court. We do not want lawyers to defend our
opinions, those opinions not being their own, but we want them simply
to maintain our right to publish what are to us important convictions.
Instead of this they commonly agree with the crown that we are criminal
for having a conscience, and then, in our name, recant with 'contrition'
the opinions which we go into court to maintain.
Adams's sentence was delivered in the following words by Mr. Justice
Erskine:--'George Adams, you have been convicted of the offence of
publishing a blasphemous libel, and the libel which was proved to have
been published by you was one of a most horrid and shocking character.
Whatever a man's opinions may be, he can have no right to give vent to
them in that language. If there was evidence to prove that you were the
author, or that you were engaged as an active disseminator, I should
have thought it my duty to have inflicted on you a very serious
imprisonment. Although by the law of this country every man has a right
to express his sentiments in decent language, he has no business to make
use of such shocking language as this. But you have expressed, through
your counsel, contrition; and trusting that this is the general feeling
of your mind, I shall not think it necessary to pass on you a severe
sentence this time. But if you ever offend again, it will then be known
that you are determined to persevere, and it will be seen whether the
law is not strong enough to prevent it. The sentence of the court
is, that you be _imprisoned in the Common Gaol of this county for one
calendar month._
I was with Adams during the term of his imprisonment, and although his
losses and the privations of his family were great, he never uttered a
murmuring word. From first to last he behaved well, and Mrs. Adams, as
women usually do, behaved better.
It is worthy of remark that when a gentleman deposed that the character
of Mr. Adams 'was a pattern of morality,' Mr. Justice Erskine told the
jury that 'had Adams committed a robbery such a character might have
weight, but in extenuation of religious offence it was of no service.'