the windows, so that the porters might clean the glass the following
morning, and this had been done on the night of the riots, so that
the windows were empty. There was a great crowd in the street that
evening, and I ordered the place to be closed earlier than usual,
and kept everybody on the alert. About eight o'clock, amid increasing
uproar in the street, there came a cry of 'Fire,' and on proceeding to
an upper floor I saw the glare of fire reflected in the windows of the
opposite houses. I at once collected all the assistants and porters,
and proceeding to the shop, we lighted the gas and mustered all
the 'arms' in the house. They consisted of an old sword and a horse
pistol, the latter of which we loaded with ball. The front door was
a very wide one, and here I planted one of the porters with a large
kitchen poker. In one of the windows I placed a strong man with a
crowbar, and in the other an active fellow with the sword. Presently
we heard our upper windows smashing, and simultaneously, an attack was
made upon our front door and windows by men armed with railings they
had taken from Nelson's monument. These heavy bars were evidently
wielded by men of great strength, for one of the earliest thrusts
broke through a strong shutter, smashing a thick plate of glass
inside. By holes through the bottom of the shutters, the men, using
the bars as levers, wrenched the shutters out. There was a strong and
very massive iron shutter-guarding bar about half-way up. They pulled
at the shutters, jerking them against this bar until they broke them
in two across the middle. They then pulled them away and smashed the
whole front in, leaving us bare and completely open to the street.
This did not take place, however, without a struggle, for as often as
a hand or an arm came within reach, my doughty henchman with the sword
chopped at them with great energy and considerable success. Others
collected the metal weights of the shop and hurled them in the faces
of our assailants. I, myself, knocked one fellow senseless by a blow
from a four-pound weight, which I dashed full in his face. In return
we were assailed by a perfect shower of miscellaneous missiles,
including a great many large lumps of sugar, stolen from other
grocers' shops. Finding themselves baffled, a cry was raised of 'Fire
the ---- place'. One of the men then deliberately climbed lamp-post
opposite, and with one blow from a bar of iron knocked away the lamp
and its connections, upon which the gas from the broken pipe flared up
two or three feet high. From this flame they lighted a large number
of combustibles, which they hurled amongst us and through the upper
windows. I thought our time was come, but my men were very active, and
we kept our ground. The young man with the pistol came to me and asked
if he should fire. 'Certainly,' said I, 'and mind you take good aim.'
He tried two or three times, but the thing wouldn't go off; we found
afterwards that in his terror he had omitted to 'cock' it. Spite of
this disaster, we fought for about twenty minutes, when there came a
sudden lull, and we were left alone. Looking cautiously through the
broken window, I saw that the mob had complete possession of the shop
of Mr. Horton, a silversmith, next door, and were appropriating the
valuable contents. Men and women, laden with the spoil, were running
off as fast as possible. The women were the worst, and they folded up
their dresses like aprons, and carried off silver goods by laps-full.
"All at once there was a cry, a roar, and a sound of horses' hoofs. A
moment afterwards we saw a troop of Dragoons come tearing along, with
swords drawn, slashing away on all sides. Some of the rioters were
very badly cut, and the affrighted ruffians fled in all directions,
amid groans, cries, curses, and a horrid turmoil. Several houses were
on fire, and the whole place was lighted up with a lurid glow.
"Our premises inside presented a curious sight. Each floor was strewn
with missiles thrown by the mob. Large lumps of sugar, stones, bits of
iron, portions of bricks, pieces of coal, and embers of burning wood
were mixed up with silver teapots, toast racks, glass cruets, and
plated goods of every kind. Aloft in the gasalier we found a silver
cruet stand and a bunch of three pounds of tallow candles. The whole
place was in a frightful state of ruin and confusion. Our list of
killed and wounded was, fortunately, a light one. I was the only one
seriously hit. I had a heavy blow in the face which spoiled it as
a picture, both in 'drawing' and 'colour,' for some time, but it
eventually got well. One of our fellows, we found, had retired to his
bed-room during the fight; he said he was 'demoralised.' Another,
a porter, had hidden himself in a place of great sweetness and
safety--the dung-pit of the stable yard. Our premises, however, though
damaged, were not destroyed, and our stock had not been stolen. We
were warmly congratulated on the success of our defence, and 'Dakin's
young men' were looked upon as heroes for a time."
The magistrates, having been all summoned, remained in consultation at
the Public Office during the whole night, and most energetic measures
were determined upon. Barriers, guarded by soldiers, were placed at
the entrances to all the streets leading to the centre of the town.
It was resolved that no more than three persons should be allowed to
collect at any point. To enforce these orders the whole of the special
constables--2,000 in number--who were already sworn in, were called
into active service. Arrangements were made to increase the number to
5,000. Messengers were sent to the authorities of the three adjoining
counties, requesting the immediate assistance of the Yeomanry Cavalry.
An "eighteen-pounder" piece of field artillery was placed on the
summit of the hill in High Street, and another on Holloway Head. The
suburbs of the town were to be patrolled continuously by the
Dragoons, and the centre was to be under the protection of the special
constables. A guard of the Rifle Brigade was to be stationed at
the Public Office, and the remainder was to be kept in reserve for
emergencies. The sittings of the magistrates were to be continuous day
and night, and other precautionary measures were resolved upon.
The town, the next morning, presented a most dismal appearance. The
shops in all the principal streets were closed, and remained so during
the day. Prom Moor Street to about a hundred yards beyond New Street
there was scarcely a pane of glass left entire. Most of the doors and
shutters were literally in splinters; valuable goods, in some of the
shops from which the owners had fled in terror the night before, were
lying in the smashed windows, entirely unprotected, and of the still
smoking and steaming ruins of the premises of Messrs. Bourne and Mr.
Leggatt nothing was left standing but the walls. The west side of the
Bull Ring, from "The Spread Eagle" to New Street, was in a similar
condition, but there had been no fires there. The whole area of the
Bull Ring was strewn with a strange medley of miscellaneous items.
Some one of the specials or police who had been on guard there during
the night, in a spirit of grim humour, had stuck up a half-burnt
arm-chair, in which they had placed, in imitation of a sitting figure,
one of the large circular tea-canisters from Messrs. Bourne's, which,
in its battered condition, bore some rough resemblance to a human
form. They had clothed it with some half-burned bed ticking; had
placed a shattered hat upon its summit; and, having made a small hole
in that part which had been the neck, had stuck therein a long clay
pipe. It had a very droll appearance. Feathers were flying about,
and fragments of half-consumed furniture were jumbled up with smashed
tea-chests and broken scales. The ground was black with tea, soaked by
the water from the fire-engines. The railings of St. Martin's Church
were in ruins, and Nelson's Statue was denuded of a great portion
of its handsome iron fence. The whole place looked as though it had
undergone a lengthened siege, and had been sacked by an infuriated
soldiery.
There is good reason for thinking that the riots were premeditated,
and had been arranged by some mysterious, secret conclave in London
or elsewhere. On this morning--the day _after_ the riots, be it
remembered--a letter was received by Messrs. Bourne, _bearing the
London post-mark of the day before_, of which the following is a copy,
in matter and in arrangement:
FAMINE, &c.
The people shall rise like lions and shall not lie down till they
eat the prey, and drink the blood of the slain,
under
JESUS CHRIST!!
Taking vengeance upon all who disobey
THE GOSPEL!
ECCE, GLORIA DEI. REX MUNDI.
EXEUNT OMNES.
SELAH.
BLOOD. FIRE, &c.
During the day preventive arrangements were actively put in practice.
Captain Moorson, R.N., who was in command of the special constables,
organised a system by which the several detachments into which he had
divided them could be concentrated, at short notice, upon any given
spot. Guardrooms were engaged at the principal inns, which were open
day and night, and the specials were on duty for specified portions
of each day. Each of the detachments had an officer to control their
movements. Provisions of a simple nature were amply provided, and
every arrangement was made for the comfort of the specials while
on duty. In a day or two troops of Yeomanry marched in, and were
quartered in the houses of the residents in the suburbs. Meanwhile,
great indignation was openly expressed at what was thought the
neglect of proper precaution on the part of the magistracy; and on
Tuesday--the day after the fires--a meeting was held, at which the
complaints were loudly and angrily discussed. A memorial was drawn up,
numerously signed, and forwarded by the same night's post to Lord
John Russell, who was then Home Secretary. It brought heavy charges
of neglect against the local rulers, and finished as follows: "Feeling
that the Mayor and Magistrates have been guilty of gross dereliction
of duty, we request your Lordship to institute proceedings to bring
them to trial for their misconduct, and, in the meantime, to suspend
them from any further control or interference."
On the Wednesday morning, the London papers had long and special
reports of Monday night's proceedings, and _The Times_ gave publicity
to two statements which I cannot find corroborated in any way.
It stated that on Monday morning the town was placarded with an
announcement that Mr. Thomas Attwood was expected in the town during
the day, and would address the people; and it mentioned that about the
middle of the day a man with a bell was sent round to announce that
a meeting would be held upon Holloway Head at half-past six that
evening, and that Mr. Attwood would be there. So far as I can discover
by diligent search, neither of these statements was correct. They
were, however, made the text of violent attacks, in the Press and
in both Houses of Parliament, upon the magistrates, and upon Lord
Melbourne's Ministry, which had appointed them. The virulence of these
attacks was very remarkable even in those days, and was almost beyond
what the present generation will believe possible. One of the speakers
in the House of Lords did not hesitate to say that he held the "Palace
favourites" liable to the country for having knowingly appointed
violent demagogues and known disloyal persons to the magisterial
bench. Lord Melbourne, in a long and eloquent speech, rebutted the
charge, and read to the House a long and very able letter from Mr.
William Scholefield, the Mayor, giving a full and fair history of
the whole matter. Government, however, consented to institute a full
inquiry; and Mr. Maule, the Solicitor to the Treasury, was sent
down, and held sittings at the Hen and Chickens Hotel. His
inquiries, however, were only preliminary to the full and exhaustive
investigation made afterwards by Mr. Dundas, who, in his report to
Parliament (presented October 26, 1840), fully absolved the Mayor and
magistrates from blame.
Upwards of sixty of the rioters having been apprehended, the
magistrates had a busy week of it, and large numbers of prisoners were
committed for trial. A Special Assize was opened at Warwick, on August
2nd, before Mr. Justice Littledale. Three men, named respectively,
Howell, Roberts, and Jones, and a boy named Aston, were found guilty
of arson, and condemned to death. The jury recommended them to mercy,
but the judge told them, that as to the men, he could not support
their appeal. The Town Council, however, petitioned for remission, and
a separate petition of the inhabitants, the first signature to which
was that of Messrs. Bourne, asked for mercy to the misguided convicts.
They were ultimately transported for life. Of the many others who were
found guilty, the majority were released upon their own recognisances,
and others, to the number of about a dozen, were sentenced to various
terms of imprisonment with hard labour.
There remained the bill to be paid. Claims to the amount of L16,283
were sent in; and after a long and searching investigation of each
claim separately, the sum of L15,027 was awarded to the sufferers.
Rates to the amount of L20,000, for compensation, and to cover
expenses, were, made in the Hundred of Hemlingford, and with the
payment of these sums the Birmingham Riots of 1839 became matter of
history only.
It is a very extraordinary circumstance that to this time no one, so
far as I am aware, has observed a remarkable coincidence. On the 15th
of July, 1791, the houses of Mr. John Ryland, at Easy Hill, Mr. John
Taylor, Bordesley Hall, and William Hutton, the historian, in High
Street, were destroyed by the "Church and King" rioters. On the 15th
of July, in the year 1839, forty-eight years afterwards--to a day--the
Chartist rioters were rampant in the Bull Ring.
After 1839, the Birmingham Chartists gave very little trouble. There
were occasional meetings sympathising with the movement, in other
places, as at Newport in the following November, and in the Potteries
in 1842. These meetings, however, were not largely attended, and there
was none of the former excitement. On the 11th of April, 1848, the
date of Feargus O'Connor's wretched _fiasco_ in London, they played
their last feeble game. They held a meeting in the People's Hall, and
I there heard some violent revolutionary speeches. There was, however,
no response to their excited appeals, and from that day Chartism was
practically extinct.
It is not, perhaps, generally known that the principles embodied in
the famous "Charter" were not new. In 1780 Charles James Fox, the
great Whig leader, declared himself in favour of the identical six
points which were, so long after, embodied in the programme of the
Chartists. The Duke of Richmond of that time brought into the House of
Lords, in the same year, a Bill to give universal suffrage and annual
parliaments; and afterwards, Mr. Erskine, Sir James Macintosh, and
Earl Grey advocated similar views.
Several great causes were at work which tended to throw Chartism into
obscurity. The repeal of the Corn Laws had given the people cheap
bread, and the advent of free trade gave abundant work and good wages.
With increased bodily comfort came contentment of mind. The greater
freedom of intercourse, caused by railway travelling, showed the lower
classes that the governing bodies were not so badly disposed towards
them as they had been taught to believe. On the other hand, the upper
classes acquired a higher sense of duty to their humbler neighbours.
All grades came to understand each other better, and with increased
knowledge came better feelings and a more friendly spirit.
But another cause has perhaps had a deeper and more lasting effect.
The abolition of the stamp duty upon newspapers, and the consequent
advent of a cheap press, enabling every working man to see his
daily paper, and to know what is going on, has carried into effect,
silently, a revolution, complete and thorough, in English thought and
manners, in relation to political matters. Every man now sees that,
differing as Englishmen do, and always will, upon some matters, they
all agree as to one object. That object is, "the greatest good to
the greatest number" of their fellow countrymen. The pride of all
Englishmen now, is in the glory that their great country has achieved
in peaceful directions. Their ardent desire and prayer is, that the
benefits they have secured for themselves in the last few and fruitful
years of judicious legislation, may descend with ever-widening
beneficent influences to succeeding generations.
GOSSIP ABOUT ROYALTY.
As I sit down to write, on the stormy evening of this twenty-ninth
day of January, 1877, I bethink me that it is fifty-seven years to-day
since death terminated a life and a reign alike unexampled for their
length in the history of English monarchs. King George the Third died
on the 29th of January, 1820.
I remember the day perfectly. I, a child not quite five years old, was
sitting with my parents in a room, the windows of which looked upon
the street of a pleasant town in Kent. Snow was falling fast, and lay
thick upon the ground outside. The weather was intensely cold, and we
crowded round the fire for warmth and comfort. Suddenly there was a
crash: a snowball fell in our midst, and the fragments of a windowpane
were scattered in the room. My father rose in anger to go to catch the
culprit who had thrown. He was unsuccessful; but in his short visit to
the street he had learned some news, for when he returned he told us
that the King was dead.
The King dead? I had heard of "the King" of course, but what _it_ was
I had never thought of. To me it represented strength and omnipotent
protection, but it was an abstraction only; an undefined something of
awful portent; and that _it_ could die was very mysterious, and set me
wondering what we should do now.
My father explained at once, that the King was only a man; that his
sons and daughters, even, were old people now; that one of the sons
died only a week ago, and wasn't buried yet; and that this son had
left, fatherless, a little baby girl, not much over six months old,
who, if she should live, might one day become the Queen of England.
Such is my earliest recollection in connection with the illustrious
lady who still, happily, sits upon the English throne.
I am an old man now, but I remember that being without a King made
me feel very uncomfortable then, particularly at night. A few days
afterwards, however, there was a sound of trumpets in the street, and
a number of elderly gentlemen, in very queer dresses and curious hats,
stopped opposite our window, where one of them, standing upon a
stool, read something from a paper. When he had finished, the trumpets
sounded again, and I knew there was a new King, for all the people
shouted, "God save the King." Then, for the first time since the fatal
day, I felt re-assured; and I went to bed that night free from the
dread which had been instilled into my mind by a very judicious nurse,
that Bonaparte might come in the dark; steal me and my little brother;
and cook us for his Sunday dinner.
Soon after this I had frequent opportunities of seeing a veritable
Queen. The unfortunate Caroline, wife of George the Fourth, lived at
Blackheath, and drove occasionally in an open carriage through
the streets of Greenwich, and there I saw her. I have a perfect
recollection of her face and figure. A very common-looking red face
it was, and a very "dowdy" figure. She wore always an enormous
flat-brimmed "Leghorn" hat, trimmed with ostrich feathers. The
remainder of her dress was gaudy, and, if one may say so of a
Queen's attire, rather vulgar. She was, however, very popular in the
neighbourhood; and when, at her great trial, she was acquitted, the
town of Greenwich was brilliantly illuminated. I remember, too, how
she, having been snubbed at the coronation of her husband, died of
grief only three weeks afterwards, and how in that very month of
August, 1821, which saw her death, her illustrious spouse set forth,
amid much pomp and gaiety, on a festive journey to Ireland.
In October, 1822, I saw the King himself, on his way to embark at
Greenwich, for Scotland. I remember a double line of soldiers along
the road, several very fussy horsemen riding to and fro, a troop of
Cavalry, and a carriage, in which sat a very fat elderly man, with a
pale flabby face, without beard or whisker, but fringed with the curls
of a large brown wig. That is all I remember, or care to remember, of
George the Fourth.
A little more than ten years after that cold January day of which I
wrote, this King lay, dying, at Windsor. It was early summer, and I,
a boy of fifteen, was one of a group of people who stood in front of a
bookseller's shop at Guildford, reading a copy of a bulletin which had
just arrived: "_His Majesty has passed a restless night; the symptoms
have not abated_." As I turned away, I overheard a woman say, "The
King'll be sure to die; he's got the symptoms, and I never knew
anybody get over _that_." All at once the bells struck up a merry
peal, and the Union Jack floated from the "Upper Church" tower. A
crowd assembled round the "White Hart," and a dozen post-horses, ready
harnessed, stood waiting in the street. Presently there was a sound of
hoofs and wheels, and three carriages dashed rapidly up the hill, to
the front of the hotel. The people waved their hats and shouted. The
glass window of one of the carriages was let down, and a child's
face and uncovered head appeared in the opening: it was the Princess
Victoria, then eleven years old. A mass of golden curls; a fair round
face, with the full apple-shaped cheeks peculiar to the Guelphs; a
pair of bright blue eyes; an upper lip too short to cover the front
teeth; a pleasant smile; and a graceful bending of the tiny figure as
the carriage passed away, left favourable impressions of the future
Queen. She had been summoned from the Isle of Wight to be near her
uncle; at whose death, a few days after--amid a storm of thunder and
lightning, such as had not been known since the night when Cromwell
died--his brother, the Duke of Clarence, was proclaimed King, and she
became the Heiress Presumptive to the Crown of England.
William the Fourth, with his good Queen, Adelaide, I saw once, as
they rode in the great State carriage to the Handel commemoration,
at Westminster Abbey, in June, 1834. The King had a good-tempered,
simple-looking face, without much sign of intellectual power;
the Queen's face was of Grecian shape, and had a thoughtful and
intelligent expression. The face and features were good in form, but
the complexion was highly coloured, and looked as though affected
by some kind of inflammation. They were a quiet, unpretending,
well-meaning, and moral couple. They purified the tainted precincts of
the Court, and thus rendered it fit for the abode of the youthful and
gracious lady who succeeded them.
The next time I saw the Princess Victoria was in 1836. It was on a day
which, but for the firmness of Sir John Conroy, who acted as Equerry,
might have been her last. At any rate, but for him, she would have
been in great peril. I was standing in the High Street of Rochester; a
fearful hurricane was blowing from the west; chimney pots, tiles, and
slates were flying in all directions, and the roaring of the wind,
as it hurtled through the elms in the Deanery Garden, was loud as
thunder. A strip of lead, two feet wide, the covering of a projecting
shop window, rolled up like a ribbon, and fell into the street. At
that moment three carriages, containing the Duchess of Kent, the
Princess, and their suite, came by. They were on their way from
Ramsgate to London, and a change of horses stood ready at the Bull
Inn. Arriving there, a gentleman of the city approached Sir John, and
advised him not to proceed further, telling him that if they attempted
to cross Rochester bridge, the carriages might be upset by the force
of the wind. The Royal travellers alighted, and Sir John proceeded to
inspect the bridge. On his return, he advised the Duchess to stay,
as the storm was raging fearfully, and the danger was imminent. The
Princess, with characteristic courage, wanted to go on, but Sir John
was firm, and he prevailed, for the journey onwards was postponed. In
an hour from that time, nearly the whole of one parapet was lying in
rains upon the footway of the bridge, and the other had been blown
bodily into the river underneath. The Royal party had to stay all
night, and the inn at which they slept, henceforth took the additional
title of "Victoria Hotel," which it still retains. The journey was
resumed next day, the horses being carefully led by grooms over the
roadway of the wall-less bridge.
A few months after this, the Princess, at Kensington Palace, was
called from her bed, in the twilight of a summer morning, and was
greeted by the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Prime Minister, Lord
Melbourne, as Queen of England. Her first act, as Queen, was to write,
and despatch by a special messenger to Windsor, an affectionate letter
to her widowed aunt, the Queen Dowager. From that time forward her
daily doings have been duly chronicled, and need not be dwelt upon
here; but a few sketches, incidental to her own and the Prince
Consort's visits to Birmingham, will perhaps be interesting.