Chapter 3

Railway travelling then was in a very primitive condition. Except at the _termini_ there were no platforms. Passengers had to clamber from the level of the rails by means of iron steps, to their seats. The roof of each of the coaches, as they were then called, was surrounded by an iron fence or parapet, to prevent luggage from slipping off. Each passenger's personal effects travelled on the roof of the coach in which he sat, and the guard occupied an outside seat at one end. First-class carriages were built upon the model of the "inside" of the old stage coaches. They were so low that even a short man could not stand upright. The seats were divided by arms, as now, and the floor was covered afresh for each journey with clean straw. The second-class coaches were simply execrable. They were roofed over, certainly; but, except a half-door and a low fencing, to prevent passengers from falling out, the sides were utterly unprotected from the weather. As the trains swept rapidly through the country--particularly in cuttings or on high embankments--the wind, even in the finest weather, drove through, "enough to cut your ear off." When the weather was wet, or it was snowing, it was truly horrible, and, according to the testimony of medical men, was the primary cause of many deaths. There were no "buffers" to break the force of the concussion of two carriages in contact. When the train was about to start, the guard used to cry out along the train, "Hold hard! we're going to start," and 'twas well he did, for sometimes, if unprepared, you might find your nose brought into collision with that of your opposite neighbour, accompanied by some painful sensations in that important part of your profile.

I arrived at Coventry station at midnight. A solitary porter with 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.