CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH18ACTION AND RE-ACTION.
THE August sun had looked down in its noontide splendour when the events I have attempted to describe took place; but the tide of terror and destruction swept beyond the limits I have covered, and after the first fierce onslaught, as if the carnage had been insufficient, artillery went rattling and thundering through the streets, to awe the peaceful and terrified inhabitants. As the flying crowd, dispersing, left bare St. Peter’s Field, pressing outward and onwards through all accessible ramifications, the main thoroughfares thinned, and the scene of action took a wider radius.
Still the gallant hussars and yeomanry went prancing through these thoroughfares, dashing hither and thither, slashing at stragglers, shouting to the rebels, and to each other, to “clear the way”; driving curious and anxious spectators from doors and windows, and firing at refractory outstretched heads.
To clear the streets more effectually, cannon were planted at the entrances of the leading outlets from the town, and, as if that were not enough, the artillery had orders to fire.
At New Cross two of these guns (which went rattling up Oldham Street, to the dismay of Augusta and the Chadwicks, as well as their neighbours) were posted, one with its hard iron mouth directed up Newton Lane, the other set to sweep Ancoats Lane, not then so wide as at present.
Nathaniel Bradshaw’s butcher’s shop was situated at the narrowest part of Ancoats Lane, a little beyond the canal bridge. The shutters had been closed precipitately on the first alarm, but Martha Bradshaw and her young brother Matthew opened the window of the room above, and had their heads stretched out to watch and question the white-faced people scurrying past in disorder, when Matt Cooper, wholived with his genial son-in-law, came hurriedly home for dinner. His route from the tannery lay in a straight line up Miller’s Lane, past Shude Hill Pits, and the New Cross, into Ancoats Lane, which he crossed the Market to reach only just before the cannon lumbered up.
His clogs had rattled as swiftly over the pavement as his stiffening, hide-bound, long legs would carry them, and observing the heads of Martha and Matthew advanced from the window he waved his hand in gesticulation for them to withdraw from a post so fraught with peril. But youth is wilful, and woman curious. They either did not understand, or did not heed his warning. They did not know all he had seen at New Cross, or how narrow an escape he had had from Aspinall’s flashing sabre.
“Do goo in, childer!” he cried, as he drew near, “if yo’ wantn to kep the yeads on yo’r shoulders. Wenches an’ lads shouldna look on sich soights.”
“Han yo’ seen Nat?” the wife asked, anxiously.
“Nawe.”
“He’s gone t’ see what o’ th’ mob an’ feightin’s abeawt. Aw wish he wur whoam.”
Matt wished the same, but went in at the unfastened door, and passed on to the room beyond, where he found the untended lobscouse boiling over into the fire. He took the lid off the pot; then went to the stair-foot, and called “Martha!”
There being no answer, he strode back through the shop, saying as he went—
“Dang it, hoo’ll not be content till hoo’s hurt!”
He stepped out on the rough pavement, and, looking up, called out—
“Do put yo’r yeads in; yo’ll——”
A musket-shot, splintering a corner of the stone window-sill on which they leaned, was more effective than his adjuration. The cannon boomed simultaneously—a shriek recalled the hastily-withdrawn heads; and there, on the rough sun-baked ground before their eyes, lay weltering in blood, a doubled-up form, which a minute before had been their father, Matt Cooper, the tanner, the preserver of Jabez, the friend of Simon and Bess.
This harrowing event was the last of the painful incidents of that fatal day coming within the scope of this history, which isolated as they are, the writer knows to be true, even though they may not be chronicled elsewhere.
The streets grew silent and deserted, save by the military and medical men, as the day and the night advanced: but within the houses of poor and rich there were loud complaints and groans, and murmurings, which did not sink to silence with the day that called them forth.
The town was, as it were, in a state of siege: and men of business, whether Tories or Radicals, alike felt the stoppage of trade and commerce in their pockets, whether they felt the cruelty and injustice to the injured in their hearts or not.
But chiefly those who had friends wounded by design or accident in themeleewere loud in their denunciation of the whole proceedings; and of these neither Mr. Chadwick nor Mr. Ashton was the least prominent, even though the one was paralysed, and they were of contrary shades of politics, the former being what he himself called “a staunch and true out-and-out Tory,” the latter having a leaning towards Liberal—not to say Radical—opinions, and at county elections voting with the Whigs.
The stiff “Church and King” man, whose sons had distinguished themselves in the Army and Navy, and whose son-in-law, Walmsley, might also be said to have distinguished himself in the loyal Manchester Yeomanry—he who had been a member of John Shaw’s Club in the Market Place, and called for his P or his Q bowl of punch even before the aroma of Jacobinism ceased to flavour the delectable compound, and while yet John Shaw himself lived to draw his silver spoon from its particular pocket to concoct the same, and (inexorable autocrat that he was) could crack his whip in his poky bar-parlour in the ears of even noble customers who lingered after his imperative “Eight o’clock gentlemen; eight o’clock!” or summon his sturdy factotum, Molly, with mop and pail, to drive thence with wetted feet those whom the whip had failed to influence—he who had stuck to the club even after John Shaw, Molly, and the punch-house itself had gone to the dust—he, Charles Chadwick, whose Toryism had grown with his growth, was foremost in condemning the proceedings of Peterloo.
In his own person he had witnessed how the actual breakers of the peace were those commissioned to preserve it. In the wanton attack on himself, an unarmed, defenceless, disabled old man, he recognised the general characteristics of the whole affair, and entered his protest against so lawless an exposition of the law. He was himself a peaceable man, a loyal subject,going quietly about his own business when Jabez intercepted to his own hurt, the sabre destined for his grey head. Matthew Cooper, his tenant’s father-in-law, was as peaceable and well-disposed; and if so, might not the bulk of the so-called rebels have been the same? In his gratitude to Jabez he denounced the mounted yeoman who had sabred him as “a drunken, blood-thirsty miscreant,” though in the hurry, excitement, and agitation attending his own withdrawal from the press by Mr. Mabbott, he had failed to identify his pursuer with John Walmsley’s dashing friend, and the exclamation of Ben Travis had not reached his ear in the confusion.
Easy-going Mr. Ashton also seemed transformed by the event. He had certainly lost the valuable services of his apprentice for some time to come; but that was the very least ingredient in the cup of his wrath. By faithful intelligent service; by persevering industry, by a thousand little actions which had shown his interest in his employers, and his devotion to his old friends, Jabez had won a place in his master’s esteem and affection no other apprentice of any grade had ever attained.
And now that Jabez had risked the dangers of the soldier-ridden street to bear his beloved daughter to a place of safety, and had braved the storm of foot and horse, and fire and steel, to rescue his brother-in-law by endangering his own life or limbs, his admiration and gratitude rose to their highest, and in proportion his denunciation of an outrage which called for such a sacrifice was strong and vehement—all the more that he sympathised with the objects of the meeting.
When he and Simon Clegg (who had been drawn to the scene in his dinner-hour with others, like moths to a candle) picked up his cavalry friend, Robert Hindley, from amongst the building materials, and disengaged him from his dead horse, he could not refrain from telling the disabled warrior, with all a friend’s frankness, that “it served him right!”
Open expression of private opinion on the conduct of rulers was dangerous at that period, as may be supposed; but private opinion became public opinion, too strong and too universal to be put in fetters.
Mr. Tyas, theTimesreporter, had been taken prisoner on the hustings, and it was imagined that only a one-sided account—forwarded by the magistracy in justification of their conduct—would reach London. But other intelligent reporters were at large, the garbled statements sent to the Governmentpress were confuted by the truth-telling narratives of Messrs. Archibald Prentice and John Edward Taylor, which appeared the following day, and roused the indignation of the realm. These statements being more than substantiated by theTimesreporter on his liberation, national indignation rose to a ferment.
This alarmed the Manchester magistrates; a meeting was hurriedly arranged to take place on Thursday, the 19th (the third day from Peterloo), at the Police Station; thence adjourned to the “Star Inn” in Deansgate; and, as though the meeting had been a public one, resolutions were passed thanking magistrates and soldiers for their services on the previous Monday.
Then Manchester rose, as it were,en masse, to vindicate its own honour, and reject participation in a disgraceful deed.
“A declaration,” says one historian, “was issued, protesting against the ‘Star Inn’ resolutions, which in the course of two or three days received close upon five thousand signatures,” in obtaining which none were more active than Mr. Ashton and (despite his paralysis) Mr. Chadwick. Old Mrs. Clowes talked her customers into signing, and Parson Brookes was not idle. Mr. William Clough, whose old servant Matthew Cooper had been shot down at his own door, gave the tanners a holiday, that they might influence their fellows; and Simon Clegg, Tom Hulme, and Nathaniel Bradshaw seemed ubiquitous, they went to work with such determined zeal.Theydid not feel “thankful” to the magistrates for the blood shed on Peterloo Monday.
Neither did the bulk of the inhabitants: and an energetic protest against the proceedings and representations of the magistracy was the result.
To counteract this, the Prince Regent, through his mouth-piece Lord Sidmouth, sent his thanks to the magistrates and the military leaders for “their prompt, decisive, and efficient measures.” But this, instead of calming, lashed the public mind to frenzy. Meetings to remonstrate with the Regent and to petition for inquiry were held in all the large towns, Sir Francis Burdett presiding at one held in Westminster.
Subscriptions were also got up for the relief of such wounded and disabled persons as had crept into holes and corners to hide themselves and their wounds from Nadin and his constabulary; and here, too, William Ashton and William Clough worked hand-in-hand to bring relief to sufferers not in theInfirmary; and Parson Brookes, to the disgust of some of his clerical brethren, lent his aid in ferreting out the miserables, if he did not ostentatiously flourish his subscription in their service; and I rather think a certain “J.S.” in the subscription-list represented the mite of the Grammar School head-master, but I could not take an affidavit on the subject. But when the wounded, as far as ascertained, amounted to six-hundred irrespective of the killed, subscriptions had need to be many and ample.
Another token of the change in public sentiment was shown in the satires and pasquinades which appeared on the walls, or were distributed from hand to hand. Previously to Peterloo a set of anonymous verses in ridicule of the popular leader had been distributed. They began and were headed as follows:—
I.
Blithe Harry Hunt was an orator bold—Talked away bravely and blunt;And Rome in her glory, and Athens of old,With all their loud talkers, of whom we are told,Couldn’t match Orator Hunt!
Blithe Harry Hunt was an orator bold—Talked away bravely and blunt;And Rome in her glory, and Athens of old,With all their loud talkers, of whom we are told,Couldn’t match Orator Hunt!
Blithe Harry Hunt was an orator bold—Talked away bravely and blunt;And Rome in her glory, and Athens of old,With all their loud talkers, of whom we are told,Couldn’t match Orator Hunt!
Blithe Harry Hunt was an orator bold—
Talked away bravely and blunt;
And Rome in her glory, and Athens of old,
With all their loud talkers, of whom we are told,
Couldn’t match Orator Hunt!
II.
Blithe Harry Hunt was a sightly man—Something ’twixt giant and runt:His paunch was a large one, his visage was wan,And to hear his long speeches vast multitudes ran.O rare Orator Hunt!
Blithe Harry Hunt was a sightly man—Something ’twixt giant and runt:His paunch was a large one, his visage was wan,And to hear his long speeches vast multitudes ran.O rare Orator Hunt!
Blithe Harry Hunt was a sightly man—Something ’twixt giant and runt:His paunch was a large one, his visage was wan,And to hear his long speeches vast multitudes ran.O rare Orator Hunt!
Blithe Harry Hunt was a sightly man—
Something ’twixt giant and runt:
His paunch was a large one, his visage was wan,
And to hear his long speeches vast multitudes ran.
O rare Orator Hunt!
VI.
Orator Hunt was the man for a riot—Bully in language and front—And thought when a nation had troubles to sigh at,’Twas quite unbecoming to sit cool and quiet.O rare Orator Hunt!
Orator Hunt was the man for a riot—Bully in language and front—And thought when a nation had troubles to sigh at,’Twas quite unbecoming to sit cool and quiet.O rare Orator Hunt!
Orator Hunt was the man for a riot—Bully in language and front—And thought when a nation had troubles to sigh at,’Twas quite unbecoming to sit cool and quiet.O rare Orator Hunt!
Orator Hunt was the man for a riot—
Bully in language and front—
And thought when a nation had troubles to sigh at,
’Twas quite unbecoming to sit cool and quiet.
O rare Orator Hunt!
VIII.
How Orator Hunt’s many speeches will close—Tedious, bombastic, and blunt—In ahalterordiadem, God only knows:The sequel might well an arch-conjurer pose.O rare Orator Hunt!
How Orator Hunt’s many speeches will close—Tedious, bombastic, and blunt—In ahalterordiadem, God only knows:The sequel might well an arch-conjurer pose.O rare Orator Hunt!
How Orator Hunt’s many speeches will close—Tedious, bombastic, and blunt—In ahalterordiadem, God only knows:The sequel might well an arch-conjurer pose.O rare Orator Hunt!
How Orator Hunt’s many speeches will close—
Tedious, bombastic, and blunt—
In ahalterordiadem, God only knows:
The sequel might well an arch-conjurer pose.
O rare Orator Hunt!
Sufficient has been given to show the nature of the lampoon without repeating its scurrility. The following, of which we only quote the two first stanzas, is of pretty much the same order, though emanating from the other side, and after terrible provocation had been given:—
On the Glorious 16th of August, 1819.
By Sir Hugo Burlo Furioso Di Mulo Spinnissimo, Bart., M.Y.C. and A.S.S.
The music by the celebratedDr. Horsefood;to be had at the “Cat and Bagpipes,” St. Mary’s Gate, Manchester.
Recitative.
When fell sedition’s stalking through the land,It then behoves each patriotic bandOf Noble-minded Yeoman CavaliersTo sally forth and rush upon the mob,And executethe Magisterial jobOf cutting off the ragamuffins’ ears.
When fell sedition’s stalking through the land,It then behoves each patriotic bandOf Noble-minded Yeoman CavaliersTo sally forth and rush upon the mob,And executethe Magisterial jobOf cutting off the ragamuffins’ ears.
When fell sedition’s stalking through the land,It then behoves each patriotic bandOf Noble-minded Yeoman CavaliersTo sally forth and rush upon the mob,And executethe Magisterial jobOf cutting off the ragamuffins’ ears.
When fell sedition’s stalking through the land,
It then behoves each patriotic band
Of Noble-minded Yeoman Cavaliers
To sally forth and rush upon the mob,
And executethe Magisterial job
Of cutting off the ragamuffins’ ears.
Aria Bravura.
Forte.
How valiantly we met that crewOf infants, men and women tooUpon the plain of Peterloo:And gloriously did hack and hewThe d——d reforming gang.Our swords were sharp, you may suppose:Some lost their ears—some lost a nose;Our horses trod upon their toesEre they could run t’ escape our blows:With shouts the welkin rang.
How valiantly we met that crewOf infants, men and women tooUpon the plain of Peterloo:And gloriously did hack and hewThe d——d reforming gang.Our swords were sharp, you may suppose:Some lost their ears—some lost a nose;Our horses trod upon their toesEre they could run t’ escape our blows:With shouts the welkin rang.
How valiantly we met that crewOf infants, men and women tooUpon the plain of Peterloo:And gloriously did hack and hewThe d——d reforming gang.Our swords were sharp, you may suppose:Some lost their ears—some lost a nose;Our horses trod upon their toesEre they could run t’ escape our blows:With shouts the welkin rang.
How valiantly we met that crew
Of infants, men and women too
Upon the plain of Peterloo:
And gloriously did hack and hew
The d——d reforming gang.
Our swords were sharp, you may suppose:
Some lost their ears—some lost a nose;
Our horses trod upon their toes
Ere they could run t’ escape our blows:
With shouts the welkin rang.
Andante.
So keen were we to rout these swine,Whole shoals of constables in lineWe galloped o’er in style so fine,By orders of the SAPIENT NINE—First friends, then foes, laid flat.By Richardson’s best grinding skillOur blades were set with right good will,That we these rogues might bleed or kill,And “give them of Reform their fill!”And what d’ye think of that?
So keen were we to rout these swine,Whole shoals of constables in lineWe galloped o’er in style so fine,By orders of the SAPIENT NINE—First friends, then foes, laid flat.By Richardson’s best grinding skillOur blades were set with right good will,That we these rogues might bleed or kill,And “give them of Reform their fill!”And what d’ye think of that?
So keen were we to rout these swine,Whole shoals of constables in lineWe galloped o’er in style so fine,By orders of the SAPIENT NINE—First friends, then foes, laid flat.By Richardson’s best grinding skillOur blades were set with right good will,That we these rogues might bleed or kill,And “give them of Reform their fill!”And what d’ye think of that?
So keen were we to rout these swine,
Whole shoals of constables in line
We galloped o’er in style so fine,
By orders of the SAPIENT NINE—
First friends, then foes, laid flat.
By Richardson’s best grinding skill
Our blades were set with right good will,
That we these rogues might bleed or kill,
And “give them of Reform their fill!”
And what d’ye think of that?
And so on the satire ran, in mock-bravura style, through the whole course ofpiano,sotto voce,pianissima-mento, andcon baldanza, with foot-notes to strengthen or elucidate the text. And that the writer remained undiscovered and unprosecuted spoke loudly for the re-action which had taken place in men’s minds.