When darkness broke away and morning began to dawn, the town
wore a strange aspect indeed.
Sleep had hardly been thought of all night. The general alarm was so apparent
in the faces of the inhabitants, and its expression was so aggravated by want of
rest (few persons, with any property to lose, having dared go to bed since
Monday), that a stranger coming into the streets would have supposed some mortal
pest or plague to have been raging. In place of the usual cheerfulness and
animation of morning, everything was dead and silent. The shops remained closed,
offices and warehouses were shut, the coach and chair stands were deserted, no
carts or waggons rumbled through the slowly waking streets, the early cries were
all hushed; a universal gloom prevailed. Great numbers of people were out, even
at daybreak, but they flitted to and fro as though they shrank from the sound of
their own footsteps; the public ways were haunted rather than frequented; and
round the smoking ruins people stood apart from one another and in silence, not
venturing to condemn the rioters, or to be supposed to do so, even in whispers.
At the Lord President's in Piccadilly, at Lambeth Palace, at the Lord
Chancellor's in Great Ormond Street, in the Royal Exchange, the Bank, the
Guildhall, the Inns of Court, the Courts of Law, and every chamber fronting the
streets near Westminster Hall and the Houses of Parliament, parties of soldiers
were posted before daylight. A body of Horse Guards paraded Palace Yard; an
encampment was formed in the Park, where fifteen hundred men and five battalions
of Militia were under arms; the Tower was fortified, the drawbridges were
raised, the cannon loaded and pointed, and two regiments of artillery busied in
strengthening the fortress and preparing it for defence. A numerous detachment
of soldiers were stationed to keep guard at the New River Head, which the people
had threatened to attack, and where, it was said, they meant to cut off the
main-pipes, so that there might be no water for the extinction of the flames. In
the Poultry, and on Cornhill, and at several other leading points, iron chains
were drawn across the street; parties of soldiers were distributed in some of
the old city churches while it was yet dark; and in several private houses
(among them, Lord Rockingham's in Grosvenor Square); which were blockaded as
though to sustain a siege, and had guns pointed from the windows. When the sun
rose, it shone into handsome apartments filled with armed men; the furniture
hastily heaped away in corners, and made of little or no account, in the terror
of the time--on arms glittering in city chambers, among desks and stools, and
dusty books--into little smoky churchyards in odd lanes and by- ways, with
soldiers lying down among the tombs, or lounging under the shade of the one old
tree, and their pile of muskets sparkling in the light--on solitary sentries
pacing up and down in courtyards, silent now, but yesterday resounding with the
din and hum of business--everywhere on guard-rooms, garrisons, and threatening
preparations.
As the day crept on, still more unusual sights were witnessed in the streets.
The gates of the King's Bench and Fleet Prisons being opened at the usual hour,
were found to have notices affixed to them, announcing that the rioters would
come that night to burn them down. The wardens, too well knowing the likelihood
there was of this promise being fulfilled, were fain to set their prisoners at
liberty, and give them leave to move their goods; so, all day, such of them as
had any furniture were occupied in conveying it, some to this place, some to
that, and not a few to the brokers' shops, where they gladly sold it, for any
wretched price those gentry chose to give. There were some broken men among
these debtors who had been in jail so long, and were so miserable and destitute
of friends, so dead to the world, and utterly forgotten and uncared for, that
they implored their jailers not to set them free, and to send them, if need
were, to some other place of custody. But they, refusing to comply, lest they
should incur the anger of the mob, turned them into the streets, where they
wandered up and down hardly remembering the ways untrodden by their feet so
long, and crying--such abject things those rotten-hearted jails had made
them--as they slunk off in their rags, and dragged their slipshod feet along the
pavement.
Even of the three hundred prisoners who had escaped from Newgate, there were
some--a few, but there were some--who sought their jailers out and delivered
themselves up: preferring imprisonment and punishment to the horrors of such
another night as the last. Many of the convicts, drawn back to their old place
of captivity by some indescribable attraction, or by a desire to exult over it
in its downfall and glut their revenge by seeing it in ashes, actually went back
in broad noon, and loitered about the cells. Fifty were retaken at one time on
this next day, within the prison walls; but their fate did not deter others, for
there they went in spite of everything, and there they were taken in twos and
threes, twice or thrice a day, all through the week. Of the fifty just
mentioned, some were occupied in endeavouring to rekindle the fire; but in
general they seemed to have no object in view but to prowl and lounge about the
old place: being often found asleep in the ruins, or sitting talking there, or
even eating and drinking, as in a choice retreat.
Besides the notices on the gates of the Fleet and the King's Bench, many
similar announcements were left, before one o'clock at noon, at the houses of
private individuals; and further, the mob proclaimed their intention of seizing
on the Bank, the Mint, the Arsenal at Woolwich, and the Royal Palaces. The
notices were seldom delivered by more than one man, who, if it were at a shop,
went in, and laid it, with a bloody threat perhaps, upon the counter; or if it
were at a private house, knocked at the door, and thrust it in the servant's
hand. Notwithstanding the presence of the military in every quarter of the town,
and the great force in the Park, these messengers did their errands with
impunity all through the day. So did two boys who went down Holborn alone, armed
with bars taken from the railings of Lord Mansfield's house, and demanded money
for the rioters. So did a tall man on horseback who made a collection for the
same purpose in Fleet Street, and refused to take anything but gold.
A rumour had now got into circulation, too, which diffused a greater dread
all through London, even than these publicly announced intentions of the
rioters, though all men knew that if they were successfully effected, there must
ensue a national bankruptcy and general ruin. It was said that they meant to
throw the gates of Bedlam open, and let all the madmen loose. This suggested
such dreadful images to the people's minds, and was indeed an act so fraught
with new and unimaginable horrors in the contemplation, that it beset them more
than any loss or cruelty of which they could foresee the worst, and drove many
sane men nearly mad themselves.
So the day passed on: the prisoners moving their goods; people running to and
fro in the streets, carrying away their property; groups standing in silence
round the ruins; all business suspended; and the soldiers disposed as has been
already mentioned, remaining quite inactive. So the day passed on, and dreaded
night drew near again.
At last, at seven o'clock in the evening, the Privy Council issued a solemn
proclamation that it was now necessary to employ the military, and that the
officers had most direct and effectual orders, by an immediate exertion of their
utmost force, to repress the disturbances; and warning all good subjects of the
King to keep themselves, their servants, and apprentices, within doors that
night. There was then delivered out to every soldier on duty, thirty-six rounds
of powder and ball; the drums beat; and the whole force was under arms at
sunset.
The City authorities, stimulated by these vigorous measures, held a Common
Council; passed a vote thanking the military associations who had tendered their
aid to the civil authorities; accepted it; and placed them under the direction
of the two sheriffs. At the Queen's palace, a double guard, the yeomen on duty,
the groom- porters, and all other attendants, were stationed in the passages and
on the staircases at seven o'clock, with strict instructions to be watchful on
their posts all night; and all the doors were locked. The gentlemen of the
Temple, and the other Inns, mounted guard within their gates, and strengthened
them with the great stones of the pavement, which they took up for the purpose.
In Lincoln's Inn, they gave up the hall and commons to the Northumberland
Militia, under the command of Lord Algernon Percy; in some few of the city
wards, the burgesses turned out, and without making a very fierce show, looked
brave enough. Some hundreds of stout gentlemen threw themselves, armed to the
teeth, into the halls of the different companies, double-locked and bolted all
the gates, and dared the rioters (among themselves) to come on at their peril.
These arrangements being all made simultaneously, or nearly so, were completed
by the time it got dark; and then the streets were comparatively clear, and were
guarded at all the great corners and chief avenues by the troops: while parties
of the officers rode up and down in all directions, ordering chance stragglers
home, and admonishing the residents to keep within their houses, and, if any
firing ensued, not to approach the windows. More chains were drawn across such
of the thoroughfares as were of a nature to favour the approach of a great
crowd, and at each of these points a considerable force was stationed. All these
precautions having been taken, and it being now quite dark, those in command
awaited the result in some anxiety: and not without a hope that such vigilant
demonstrations might of themselves dishearten the populace, and prevent any new
outrages.
But in this reckoning they were cruelly mistaken, for in half an hour, or
less, as though the setting in of night had been their preconcerted signal, the
rioters having previously, in small parties, prevented the lighting of the
street lamps, rose like a great sea; and that in so many places at once, and
with such inconceivable fury, that those who had the direction of the troops
knew not, at first, where to turn or what to do. One after another, new fires
blazed up in every quarter of the town, as though it were the intention of the
insurgents to wrap the city in a circle of flames, which, contracting by
degrees, should burn the whole to ashes; the crowd swarmed and roared in every
street; and none but rioters and soldiers being out of doors, it seemed to the
latter as if all London were arrayed against them, and they stood alone against
the town.
In two hours, six-and-thirty fires were raging--six-and-thirty great
conflagrations: among them the Borough Clink in Tooley Street, the King's Bench,
the Fleet, and the New Bridewell. In almost every street, there was a battle;
and in every quarter the muskets of the troops were heard above the shouts and
tumult of the mob. The firing began in the Poultry, where the chain was drawn
across the road, where nearly a score of people were killed on the first
discharge. Their bodies having been hastily carried into St Mildred's Church by
the soldiers, the latter fired again, and following fast upon the crowd, who
began to give way when they saw the execution that was done, formed across
Cheapside, and charged them at the point of the bayonet.
The streets were now a dreadful spectacle. The shouts of the rabble, the
shrieks of women, the cries of the wounded, and the constant firing, formed a
deafening and an awful accompaniment to the sights which every corner presented.
Wherever the road was obstructed by the chains, there the fighting and the loss
of life were greatest; but there was hot work and bloodshed in almost every
leading thoroughfare.
At Holborn Bridge, and on Holborn Hill, the confusion was greater than in any
other part; for the crowd that poured out of the city in two great streams, one
by Ludgate Hill, and one by Newgate Street, united at that spot, and formed a
mass so dense, that at every volley the people seemed to fall in heaps. At this
place a large detachment of soldiery were posted, who fired, now up Fleet
Market, now up Holborn, now up Snow Hill--constantly raking the streets in each
direction. At this place too, several large fires were burning, so that all the
terrors of that terrible night seemed to be concentrated in one spot.
Full twenty times, the rioters, headed by one man who wielded an axe in his
right hand, and bestrode a brewer's horse of great size and strength,
caparisoned with fetters taken out of Newgate, which clanked and jingled as he
went, made an attempt to force a passage at this point, and fire the vintner's
house. Full twenty times they were repulsed with loss of life, and still came
back again; and though the fellow at their head was marked and singled out by
all, and was a conspicuous object as the only rioter on horseback, not a man
could hit him. So surely as the smoke cleared away, so surely there was he;
calling hoarsely to his companions, brandishing his axe above his head, and
dashing on as though he bore a charmed life, and was proof against ball and
powder.
This man was Hugh; and in every part of the riot, he was seen. He headed two
attacks upon the Bank, helped to break open the Toll- houses on Blackfriars
Bridge, and cast the money into the street: fired two of the prisons with his
own hand: was here, and there, and everywhere--always foremost--always
active--striking at the soldiers, cheering on the crowd, making his horse's iron
music heard through all the yell and uproar: but never hurt or stopped. Turn him
at one place, and he made a new struggle in anotlter; force him to retreat at
this point, and he advanced on that, directly. Driven from Holborn for the
twentieth time, he rode at the head of a great crowd straight upon Saint Paul's,
attacked a guard of soldiers who kept watch over a body of prisoners within the
iron railings, forced them to retreat, rescued the men they had in custody, and
with this accession to his party, came back again, mad with liquor and
excitement, and hallooing them on like a demon.
It would have been no easy task for the most careful rider to sit a horse in
the midst of such a throng and tumult; but though this madman rolled upon his
back (he had no saddle) like a boat upon the sea, he never for an instant lost
his seat, or failed to guide him where he would. Through the very thickest of
the press, over dead bodies and burning fragments, now on the pavement, now in
the road, now riding up a flight of steps to make himself the more conspicuous
to his party, and now forcing a passage through a mass of human beings, so
closely squeezed together that it seemed as if the edge of a knife would
scarcely part them,--on he went, as though he could surmount all obstacles by
the mere exercise of his will. And perhaps his not being shot was in some degree
attributable to this very circumstance; for his extreme audacity, and the
conviction that he must be one of those to whom the proclamation referred,
inspired the soldiers with a desire to take him alive, and diverted many an aim
which otherwise might have been more near the mark.
The vintner and Mr Haredale, unable to sit quietly listening to the noise
without seeing what went on, had climbed to the roof of the house, and hiding
behind a stack of chimneys, were looking cautiously down into the street, almost
hoping that after so many repulses the rioters would be foiled, when a great
shout proclaimed that a parry were coming round the other way; and the dismal
jingling of those accursed fetters warned them next moment that they too were
led by Hugh. The soldiers had advanced into Fleet Market and were dispersing the
people there; so that they came on with hardly any check, and were soon before
the house.
'All's over now,' said the vintner. 'Fifty thousand pounds will be scattered
in a minute. We must save ourselves. We can do no more, and shall have reason to
be thankful if we do as much.'
Their first impulse was, to clamber along the roofs of the houses, and,
knocking at some garret window for admission, pass down that way into the
street, and so escape. But another fierce cry from below, and a general
upturning of the faces of the crowd, apprised them that they were discovered,
and even that Mr Haredale was recognised; for Hugh, seeing him plainly in the
bright glare of the fire, which in that part made it as light as day, called to
him by his name, and swore to have his life.
'Leave me here,' said Mr Haredale, 'and in Heaven's name, my good friend,
save yourself! Come on!' he muttered, as he turned towards Hugh and faced him
without any further effort at concealment: 'This roof is high, and if we close,
we will die together!'
'Madness,' said the honest vintner, pulling him back, 'sheer madness. Hear
reason, sir. My good sir, hear reason. I could never make myself heard by
knocking at a window now; and even if I could, no one would be bold enough to
connive at my escape. Through the cellars, there's a kind of passage into the
back street by which we roll casks in and out. We shall have time to get down
there before they can force an entry. Do not delay an instant, but come with
me--for both our sakes--for mine--my dear good sir!'
As he spoke, and drew Mr Haredale back, they had both a glimpse of the
street. It was but a glimpse, but it showed them the crowd, gathering and
clustering round the house: some of the armed men pressing to the front to break
down the doors and windows, some bringing brands from the nearest fire, some
with lifted faces following their course upon the roof and pointing them out to
their companions: all raging and roaring like the flames they lighted up. They
saw some men thirsting for the treasures of strong liquor which they knew were
stored within; they saw others, who had been wounded, sinking down into the
opposite doorways and dying, solitary wretches, in the midst of all the vast
assemblage; here a frightened woman trying to escape; and there a lost child;
and there a drunken ruffian, unconscious of the death-wound on his head, raving
and fighting to the last. All these things, and even such trivial incidents as a
man with his hat off, or turning round, or stooping down, or shaking hands with
another, they marked distinctly; yet in a glance so brief, that, in the act of
stepping back, they lost the whole, and saw but the pale faces of each other,
and the red sky above them.
Mr Haredale yielded to the entreaties of his companion--more because he was
resolved to defend him, than for any thought he had of his own life, or any care
he entertained for his own safety--and quickly re-entering the house, they
descended the stairs together. Loud blows were thundering on the shutters,
crowbars were already thrust beneath the door, the glass fell from the sashes, a
deep light shone through every crevice, and they heard the voices of the
foremost in the crowd so close to every chink and keyhole, that they seemed to
be hoarsely whispering their threats into their very ears. They had but a moment
reached the bottom of the cellar-steps and shut the door behind them, when the
mob broke in.
The vaults were profoundly dark, and having no torch or candle--for they had
been afraid to carry one, lest it should betray their place of refuge--they were
obliged to grope with their hands. But they were not long without light, for
they had not gone far when they heard the crowd forcing the door; and, looking
back among the low-arched passages, could see them in the distance, hurrying to
and fro with flashing links, broaching the casks, staving the great vats,
turning off upon the right hand and the left, into the different cellars, and
lying down to drink at the channels of strong spirits which were already flowing
on the ground.
They hurried on, not the less quickly for this; and had reached the only
vault which lay between them and the passage out, when suddenly, from the
direction in which they were going, a strong light gleamed upon their faces; and
before they could slip aside, or turn back, or hide themselves, two men (one
bearing a torch) came upon them, and cried in an astonished whisper, 'Here they
are!'
At the same instant they pulled off what they wore upon their heads. Mr
Haredale saw before him Edward Chester, and then saw, when the vintner gasped
his name, Joe Willet.
Ay, the same Joe, though with an arm the less, who used to make the quarterly
journey on the grey mare to pay the bill to the purple- faced vintner; and that
very same purple-faced vintner, formerly of Thames Street, now looked him in the
face, and challenged him by name.
'Give me your hand,' said Joe softly, taking it whether the astonished
vintner would or no. 'Don't fear to shake it; it's a friendly one and a hearty
one, though it has no fellow. Why, how well you look and how bluff you are! And
you--God bless you, sir. Take heart, take heart. We'll find them. Be of good
cheer; we have not been idle.'
There was something so honest and frank in Joe's speech, that Mr Haredale put
his hand in his involuntarily, though their meeting was suspicious enough. But
his glance at Edward Chester, and that gentleman's keeping aloof, were not lost
upon Joe, who said bluntly, glancing at Edward while he spoke:
'Times are changed, Mr Haredale, and times have come when we ought to know
friends from enemies, and make no confusion of names. Let me tell you that but
for this gentleman, you would most likely have been dead by this time, or badly
wounded at the best.'
'What do you say?' cried Mr Haredale.
'I say,' said Joe, 'first, that it was a bold thing to be in the crowd at all
disguised as one of them; though I won't say much about that, on second
thoughts, for that's my case too. Secondly, that it was a brave and glorious
action--that's what I call it--to strike that fellow off his horse before their
eyes!'
'What fellow! Whose eyes!'
'What fellow, sir!' cried Joe: 'a fellow who has no goodwill to you, and who
has the daring and devilry in him of twenty fellows. I know him of old. Once in
the house, HE would have found you, here or anywhere. The rest owe you no
particular grudge, and, unless they see you, will only think of drinking
themselves dead. But we lose time. Are you ready?'
'Quite,' said Edward. 'Put out the torch, Joe, and go on. And be silent,
there's a good fellow.'
'Silent or not silent,' murmured Joe, as he dropped the flaring link upon the
ground, crushed it with his foot, and gave his hand to Mr Haredale, 'it was a
brave and glorious action;--no man can alter that.'
Both Mr Haredale and the worthy vintner were too amazed and too much hurried
to ask any further questions, so followed their conductors in silence. It
seemed, from a short whispering which presently ensued between them and the
vintner relative to the best way of escape, that they had entered by the
back-door, with the connivance of John Grueby, who watched outside with the key
in his pocket, and whom they had taken into their confidence. A party of the
crowd coming up that way, just as they entered, John had double-locked the door
again, and made off for the soldiers, so that means of retreat was cut off from
under them.
However, as the front-door had been forced, and this minor crowd, being
anxious to get at the liquor, had no fancy for losing time in breaking down
another, but had gone round and got in from Holborn with the rest, the narrow
lane in the rear was quite free of people. So, when they had crawled through the
passage indicated by the vintner (which was a mere shelving-trap for the
admission of casks), and had managed with some difficulty to unchain and raise
the door at the upper end, they emerged into the street without being observed
or interrupted. Joe still holding Mr Haredale tight, and Edward taking the same
care of the vintner, they hurried through the streets at a rapid pace;
occasionally standing aside to let some fugitives go by, or to keep out of the
way of the soldiers who followed them, and whose questions, when they halted to
put any, were speedily stopped by one whispered word from Joe.
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