a lantern was in attendance. There was no lamp about the place. The
guard clambered to the roof of the carriage in which I had travelled,
and the porter brought a long board, having raised edges, down which
my luggage came sliding to the ground. The train passed on, and I made
inquiry for some vehicle to convey me to "The Craven Arms," half a
mile away. None were in attendance, nor was there any one who would
carry my "traps." I had about a hundred-weight of patterns, besides my
portmanteau. I "might leave my patterns in his room," the porter said,
and I "had better carry my 'things' myself." There was no help for it,
so, shouldering the portmanteau, I carried it up a narrow brick stair
to the roadway. The "station" then consisted of the small house by the
side of the bridge which crosses the railway, and the only means of
entrance or exit to the line was by this steep stair, which was about
three feet wide. The "booking office" was on the level of the road, by
the side of the bridge, where Tennyson
"Hung with grooms and porters,"
while he
"Waited for the train at Coventry."
Carrying a heavy portmanteau half a mile on a hot night, when you are
tired, is not a pleasant job. When I arrived, hot and thirsty, at the
inn, I looked upon the night porter as my best friend, when, after
a little parley, he was able to get me a little something, "out of
a bottle o' my own, you know, sir," with which I endeavoured,
successfully, to repair the waste of tissue.
The next day, having finished my work in Coventry, I started in a
hired conveyance for Coleshill, and a pleasant drive of an hour and
a half brought me to the door of "The Swan" in that quaint and quiet
little town. The people of the house were very busy preparing for a
public dinner that was to come off on the following day, and as the
house was noisy, from the preparations, I took a quiet walk in the
churchyard, little recking then, as I strolled in the solemn silence
of the golden-tinted twilight, that, only ten miles from where
I stood, at that moment, a crowd of furious men, with passions
unbridled, and blood hot with diabolic hate, held at their mercy,
undisturbed, the lives and property of the citizens of an important
town; that several houses, fired by incendiary hands, were roaring
like furnaces, and lighting with a lurid glare the overhanging sky;
that women by hundreds were shrieking with terror, and brave men were
standing aghast and appalled; that two of my own brothers and some
valued friends were in deadly peril, and that one at that very instant
was fighting for very life. It was the night of the great Bull Ring
riots of 1839.
When I arose the next morning I saw a man on horseback come rapidly to
the house, his features wild with excitement, and his face pale with
terror. His horse was covered with foam, and trembled violently. From
the man's quivering lips I learned, by degrees, an incoherent story,
which accounted for His strange demeanour. He was a servant at the
inn, and had been to Birmingham that morning, early, to fetch from
Mr. Keirle's shop, in Bull Street, a salmon for the coming dinner.
On arriving at the town, he had been stopped at a barrier by some
dragoons, who told him that he could go no further. Upon the poor
fellow telling how urgent was his errand, and what a heavy blow it
would be to society if the dinner at "The Swan" should be short of
fish, he was allowed to pass, but was escorted by a dragoon, with
drawn sword, to the shop. Here having obtained what he sought, he was
duly marched back to the barrier and set at liberty, upon which he
started off in mortal terror, and galloped all the way home, to tell
us with tremulous tongue that Birmingham was all on fire, and that
hundreds of people had been killed by the soldiers.
A small group had gathered round him in the yard to listen to his
incoherent, and, happily, exaggerated story. In a minute or two the
landlady, who had in some remote part of the premises heard a word or
two of the news the man had brought, came rushing out in a state of
frantic terror, prepared evidently for the worst; but when she heard
that James _had_ brought the salmon, her face assumed an air of
satisfaction, and with a pious "Thank God! that's all right," she
turned away; her mind tranquil, contented, and at perfect ease.
After the passing of the Reform Bill in 1832, there was a political
lull in England for a few years. The middle classes, being satisfied
with the success they had achieved for themselves, did not trouble
themselves very much for the extension of the franchise to the working
classes. So long as trade remained good, and wages were easily earned,
the masses remained quiet; but the disastrous panic of 1837 altered
the aspect of affairs. Trade was very much depressed. A series of bad
harvests having occurred, and the Corn Laws not having been repealed,
bread became dear, and so aggravated the sufferings of the people.
Wages fell; manufactories in many places were entirely closed, and
work became scarce. Naturally enough, the working men attributed their
sufferings to their want of direct political influence, and began
to clamour for the franchise. Feargus O'Connor, a violent demagogue,
fanned the flame, and the excitement became general. In the year 1838
some half-dozen Members of Parliament united with an equal number of
working men in conference, and drew up a document, known afterwards
as "The People's Charter," which embodied what they considered the
rightful demands of the working class. It had six distinct claims,
which were called the "points" of the charter, and were as follows: 1.
Universal suffrage. 2. Vote by ballot. 3. Equal electoral districts.
4. Annual Parliaments. 5. Abolition of property qualification for
Members of Parliament. 6. Payment of Members. This programme, when
promulgated, was enthusiastically received throughout the country,
immense meetings being held in various places in its support. In
Birmingham, meetings were held every Monday evening on Holloway Head,
then an open space. On the 13th of August, 1838, there was a "monster
demonstration" here, and it was computed that 100,000 persons were
present. A petition in favour of the charter was adopted, and in a
few days received nearly 95,000 signatures. The former political
leaders--G.F. Muntz, George Edmonds, and Clutton Salt--became all at
once exceedingly unpopular, as they declined to join in the agitation.
Torchlight meetings were held almost nightly in various parts of the
country, and a Government proclamation was issued prohibiting them.
Some of the leaders of the movement were arrested. There was evidently
some central organisation at work, for a curious system of annoyance
was simultaneously adopted. In all parts of the country the Chartists,
in large and well-organised bodies, went, Sunday after Sunday, as soon
as the doors were opened, and took possession of all the seats in the
churches, thus shutting out the regular congregations. I was present
at a proceeding of this kind at Cheltenham. I was staying at "The
Fleece," and on a Saturday evening was told by the landlord that if I
wished to go to church the following morning, I had better be early,
as the Chartists were expected there, and the hotel pew might be full.
Dr. Close, the present Dean of Carlisle, was then the rector, and
was a very popular preacher. I had long wished to hear him, and
accordingly went to the church, with some other hotel guests. Soon
after the bells had begun to chime, several hundreds of men filed in
and took possession of every vacant seat and space. The aisles were so
occupied that no one could pass, and there were probably not thirty of
the regular worshippers there. There was not a female in the church.
The men were very quiet, orderly, and well-behaved, and joined in the
responses in a proper manner. The prayers over, Mr. Close ascended
the pulpit, and took for a text, 1 _Sam._ xii., 23: "God forbid that
I should sin against the Lord in ceasing to pray for you; but I will
teach you the good and the right way." The eloquent rector was quite
equal to the occasion; he gave them a thoroughly good dressing, and
his extempore sermon lasted for two hours and a half! I watched,
during the sermon, the impatient glances of some of the men; but
they stayed the sermon out, and went away, hungrier certainly, if not
wiser, than when they came.
All through the winter of 1838 there was much excitement in the
country. Many meetings were held, at which Feargus O'Connor distinctly
advised his hearers that they had a legitimate right to resort to
force to obtain their demands. Birmingham, however, remained tolerably
quiet until the beginning of April, 1839. On the 1st of that month,
and again on the 3rd, large meetings were held, at which Feargus
O'Connor, a Dr. John Taylor, "delegates" named Bassey, Donaldson, and
Brown, made violent and inflammatory speeches. Meetings more or less
numerously attended were held almost nightly. Upon the representation
of the shopkeepers that their business was greatly hindered, the Mayor
and magistrates, on the 10th of May, issued a notice forbidding the
holding of the meetings. Of the twelve gentlemen whose signatures were
attached to this notice, only two survive--Dr. Birt Davies and Mr.
P.H. Muntz.
On the 13th of May, a number of delegates from various parts of the
country, calling themselves "The National Convention," assembled
in Birmingham. Their avowed object was to frighten Parliament into
submission to their demands. They recommended a run for gold upon
the savings banks, an entire abstinence from excisable articles, and
universal cessation from work. Their proceedings at this conference
added fuel to the fire, and the people became more audacious. Threats
were now openly uttered nightly, and people began to be alarmed,
particularly as it was rumoured that a general rising in the Black
Country had been arranged for a certain day. Hundreds of pikes, it
was said, were already forged, and specimens were freely exhibited of
formidable weapons known to military men by the name of "Caltrop" or
"Calthorp," intended to impede the passage of cavalry. They consisted
of four spikes of pointed iron, about four inches long, radiating from
a common centre in such a manner that, however thrown, one spike would
be uppermost. Like the three-legged symbol of the Isle of Man, their
motto might be "_Quoqunque jeceris stabit_." There was a perfect reign
of terror, and people were afraid to venture out after nightfall. On
Friday, the 29th of June, the Mayor, Mr. William Scholefield, met
the mob, and in a short and friendly speech tried to induce them to
disperse, promising them, if they would refrain from meeting in the
streets, they should have the use of the Town Hall once a week for
their meetings. This proposal was received with shouts of derision,
and the mob, by this time greatly increased in numbers, marched
noisily through New Street, Colmore Bow, Bull Street, and High Street,
to the Bull Ring. On the following Monday, July 1st, there was a large
crowd in the Bull Ring, where Mr. Feargus O'Connor addressed them,
and advised an adjournment to Gosta Green, to which place they
accordingly marched, and O'Connor made a violent speech. In the
meantime the troops were ordered out, and a large body of pensioners,
fully armed, were marched into the Bull Ring. Finding no one there,
the Mayor ordered the troops back to the barracks, and the pensioners
were dismissed. After the meeting at Gosta Green was over, the people
marched with tremendous cheering back to the Bull Ring. They met
again on Tuesday and Wednesday evenings, but no mischief, beyond a few
broken windows, was done. On Thursday evening, about eight o'clock,
the mob was in great force in the accustomed spot, with flags,
banners, and other insignia freely displayed. Suddenly, without a word
of notice, a large body of London police, which had just arrived by
train, came out of Moor Street and rushed directly at the mob.
They were met by groans and threats, and a terrible fight at once
commenced. The police with their staves fought their way to the
standard bearers and demolished the flags; others laid on, right
and left, with great fury. In a short time the Bull Ring was nearly
cleared, but the people rallied, and, arming themselves with
various improvised weapons, returned to the attack. The police were
outnumbered, surrounded, and rendered powerless. Some were stoned,
others knocked down and frightfully kicked; some were beaten badly
about the head, and some were stabbed. No doubt many of them would
have been killed, but just at this time Dr. Booth, a magistrate,
arrived on the spot, accompanied by a troop of the 4th Dragoons, and a
company of the Rifle Brigade. The Riot Act was read, and the military
occupied the Bull Ring. The wounded police were rescued and carried
to the Public Office, where Mr. Richards and some other surgeons were
soon in attendance, and dressed their wounds. Seven had to be taken to
the hospital. One was found to have been stabbed in the abdomen, and
another in the groin, in a most dangerous manner. The troops, and such
of the police as were able, continued to patrol the Bull Ring, and
they succeeded in arresting about a dozen of the rioters, who were
found to be armed with deadly weapons, and their pockets filled
with large stones. The mob continued to increase until about eleven
o'clock, when they suddenly started off for Holloway Head, where they
pulled down about twenty yards of the railing of St. Thomas's Church,
arming themselves with the iron bars. They then proceeded to "The
Golden Lion," in Aston Street, where the "convention" held its
meetings. Dr. Taylor addressed them, and upon his advice they
separated and went home. Taylor was arrested at his lodgings the same
night, and was brought before the magistrates about one o'clock in the
morning, when he was ordered to find bail, himself in L500, and two
sureties of L250 each.
On the following morning, by nine o'clock, the rioters again met at
Holloway Head. Mr. Alston, with a body of Dragoons, immediately went
there, and the Riot Act was again read. The mob did not disperse; the
soldiers charged them, and one fellow was felled to the ground by a
sabre cut on the head from one of the soldiers. During the whole of
this day the shops in High Street and the Bull Ring remained entirely
closed. The magistrates and military patrolled the town, and were
pelted with stones, but nothing very serious occurred, and for a few
days afterwards the town was comparatively quiet.
On Friday, the 12th of July, the House of Commons was asked by Mr.
Thomas Attwood to take into consideration the prayer of a monster
petition, which, on behalf of the Chartists, he had presented on June
14th. This petition asked the House, in not very respectful terms, to
pass an Act, whereby the six points of the Charter might become law.
It was signed by 1,280,000 persons. A long debate ensued, and Mr.
Attwood's proposition was negatived.
When the news arrived, on Saturday, the Chartists were furious, and a
large and noisy meeting was held at Holloway Head in the evening, but
no active disturbance took place either on that or the following day.
On Monday, the 15th, some of the leaders who had been arrested were
brought before the magistrates at the Public Office. A Carlisle man,
named Harvey, and two others named Lovett and Collins, were committed
for trial by a very full Bench, there having been present the Mayor,
Messrs. Thomas Clark, W. Chance, C. Shaw, P.H. Muntz, S. Beale, and
J. Walker. The crowd, which had assembled in Moor Street and the Bull
Ring, upon hearing the result, quietly dispersed, and for a few
hours the town appeared to be in a perfectly tranquil condition. The
soldiers retired to the barracks; the police remained at the Public
Office, with instructions from the magistrates not to act without
direct magisterial orders. The Mayor went to dinner, and the
magistrates, without exception, left the Public Office, and went home.
Unfortunately, this was only the lull before the coming storm, for
that night was such as few can remember now without a shudder.
About two hours after the magistrates had left the Public Office, the
Bull Ring was very full, but nearly all who were there seemed present
from motives of curiosity only. They were so orderly that no attempt
was made to disperse them. The crowd became so dense that the shops
were closed in apprehension that the windows might be accidentally
broken by the pressure. About eight o'clock, however, a cry was
raised, and an organised gang, many hundreds in number, armed with
bludgeons, bars of iron, and other formidable weapons, came marching
up Digbeth. They turned down Moor Street, and without any parley, made
an attack upon the Public Office, demolishing in a few seconds every
window in the front of the building. There was a strong body of police
inside, but they were powerless, for they had received definite orders
not to interfere without fresh magisterial directions, and all the
magistrates had left. The mob soon started back towards the Bull Ring,
where they fell upon a respectable solicitor named Bond, who happened
to be passing, and him they nearly killed. He was removed in
an insensible and very dangerous condition to the George Hotel.
Meanwhile, an attack was made with iron bars, used battering-ram
fashion, upon the doors of many of the shops, the rioters "prodding"
them with all their might. Messrs. Bourne's shop, at the corner of
Moor Street, was the first to give way, and the men quickly gained
admittance. A large number of loaves of sugar were piled near the
windows, and these were passed rapidly into the street. There, being
dashed violently to the ground, and broken to pieces, they formed
dangerous missiles, with which the crowd soon demolished all the
windows within reach. As the crowd of rioters increased, their weapons
became too few, and the iron railings of St. Martin's Church were
pulled down. With these very dangerous instruments they wrenched from
Nelson's monument the massive bars of iron which surrounded it. These
being long, and of great strength, proved to be formidable levers,
with which to force doors and shutters. In a short time the entire
area of the Bull Ring was filled with a mob of yelling demons, whose
shouts and cries, mixed with the sounds of crashing timber, and the
sharp rattle of breaking glass, made a hideous din. It was getting
dark, and a cry was raised for a bonfire to give light. In a few
moments the shop of Mr. Leggatt, an upholsterer, was broken open, and
his stock of bedding, chairs, tables, and other valuable furniture was
brought into the roadway, broken up, and fired, amid the cheers of the
excited people. One man, more adventurous than the rest, deliberately
carried a flaming brand into the shop and set the premises on fire.
The sight of the flames seemed to rouse the mob to ungovernable fury.
Snatching burning wood from the fire, they hurled it through the
broken, windows in all directions. Rushing in to Bourne's shop,
they rolled out tea canisters by dozens, which they emptied into the
gutters, and then smashed to pieces. They then deliberately collected
the shop paper around a pile of tea chests, and fired it, the shop
soon filling with flames. The mob, now vastly increased in numbers,
broke up into separate parties, one of which, with great violence,
attacked the premises of Mr. Arnold, a pork butcher. He, however, with
prudent forethought, had collected his workmen in the shop and armed
them with heavy cleavers and other formidable implements of his trade,
and so defended he kept the mob at bay, and eventually repulsed them.
The shop of Mr. Martin, a jeweller, whose window was filled with
watches, rings, and other costly articles, had its front completely
battered in, and the valuable stock literally scattered in the road
and scrambled for. Mr. Morris Banks, the druggist, had his stock of
bottles of drugs smashed to atoms. A curious circumstance saved these
premises from being set on fire. The mob had collected combustibles
for the purpose, but in breaking indiscriminately the bottles in the
shop, they had inadvertently smashed some containing a quantity of
very powerful acids. These, escaping and mixing with other drugs,
caused such a suffocating vapour that the miscreants were driven from
the shop half choked. Other tradesmen whose places were badly damaged
were Mr. Arthur Dakin, grocer; Mr. Savage, cheesemonger; Mrs.
Brinton, pork butcher; Mr. Allen, baker; Mr. Heath, cheesemonger; Mr.
Scudamore, druggist; and Mr. Horton, silversmith. Mr. Gooden, of
the Nelson Hotel, which then stood upon the site of the present Fish
Market, was a great sufferer, the whole of the windows of the hotel
being smashed in, and some costly mirrors and other valuable furniture
completely destroyed. The large premises of William Dakin and Co.--now
occupied by Innes, Smith, and Co., but then a grocer's shop--were
hotly besieged for nearly half an hour, but were, as will be fully
described a little further on, most bravely and successfully
defended. At nine o'clock many of the shops were on fire, and heaps
of combustibles from others were thrown upon the blazing pile in the
streets. The shops were freely entered and robbed. Women and children
were seen running away laden with costly goods of all kinds, and men
urged each other on, shouting with fury until they were hoarse.
The work of destruction went on undisturbed until nearly ten o'clock,
when suddenly, from the direction of High Street, a troop of Dragoons,
with swords drawn, came at full gallop, and rushed into the crowd,
slashing right and left with their sabres. They had been ordered to
strike with the flats only, but some stones were thrown at them, after
which some of the rioters got some very ugly cuts. Simultaneously
the mob was taken in flank by a body of a hundred police, which came,
headed by Mr. Joseph Walker and Mr. George Whateley, from Moor Street.
Such of the mob as could get away fled in terror, but so many arrests
were made that the prison in Moor Street was soon filled. In less than
a quarter of an hour not one of the rioters was to be seen, and the
peaceful inhabitants came trembling into the streets, to look upon the
wreck, and to convey their women and children to some safer locality.
Some ladies had to be brought from upper storeys by ladders. Tradesmen
took their account books away, for fear of further troubles. The fire
engines were brought, and vigorous help was soon obtained to work
them. By one o'clock in the morning the fires were all extinct, but at
that time all that remained of the premises of Messrs. Bourne and Mr.
Leggatt were the black and crumbling walls.
I have mentioned the attack upon the premises of W. Dakin and Co. My
own brother was manager there, and was in the very thick of the fray.
From him at the time, I had a very graphic account of the affair, and
in order that this little sketch might be as accurate as possible, I
made a special visit to his house, nearly 150 miles from Birmingham,
to refresh my memory; and the following account of the attack upon
Dakin's, and the robbery at Horton's, is in his own language:
"Remember it? Yes, I was confidential manager to Messrs. W. Dakin
and Co., tea merchants, at No. 28, High Street, where they had large
premises facing the street, and carried on a very extensive business,
having about twenty assistants living on the premises.