Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty
She tried with all the earnestness her fears engendered, to turn him
from his purpose, but in vain. He was stooping down to buckle on his
shoe, when a hackney-coach passed them rather quickly, and a voice
inside called to the driver to stop.
‘Young man,’ said a voice within.
‘Who’s that?’ cried Barnaby, looking up.
‘Do you wear this ornament?’ returned the stranger, holding out a blue
cockade.
‘In Heaven’s name, no. Pray do not give it him!’ exclaimed the widow.
‘Speak for yourself, woman,’ said the man within the coach, coldly.
‘Leave the young man to his choice; he’s old enough to make it, and
to snap your apron-strings. He knows, without your telling, whether he
wears the sign of a loyal Englishman or not.’
Barnaby, trembling with impatience, cried, ‘Yes! yes, yes, I do,’ as
he had cried a dozen times already. The man threw him a cockade, and
crying, ‘Make haste to St George’s Fields,’ ordered the coachman to
drive on fast; and left them.
With hands that trembled with his eagerness to fix the bauble in his
hat, Barnaby was adjusting it as he best could, and hurriedly replying
to the tears and entreaties of his mother, when two gentlemen passed on
the opposite side of the way. Observing them, and seeing how Barnaby was
occupied, they stopped, whispered together for an instant, turned back,
and came over to them.
‘Why are you sitting here?’ said one of them, who was dressed in a plain
suit of black, wore long lank hair, and carried a great cane. ‘Why have
you not gone with the rest?’
‘I am going, sir,’ replied Barnaby, finishing his task, and putting his
hat on with an air of pride. ‘I shall be there directly.’
‘Say “my lord,” young man, when his lordship does you the honour of
speaking to you,’ said the second gentleman mildly. ‘If you don’t know
Lord George Gordon when you see him, it’s high time you should.’
‘Nay, Gashford,’ said Lord George, as Barnaby pulled off his hat again
and made him a low bow, ‘it’s no great matter on a day like this, which
every Englishman will remember with delight and pride. Put on your hat,
friend, and follow us, for you lag behind and are late. It’s past ten
now. Didn’t you know that the hour for assembling was ten o’clock?’
Barnaby shook his head and looked vacantly from one to the other.
‘You might have known it, friend,’ said Gashford, ‘it was perfectly
understood. How came you to be so ill informed?’
‘He cannot tell you, sir,’ the widow interposed. ‘It’s of no use to ask
him. We are but this morning come from a long distance in the country,
and know nothing of these matters.’
‘The cause has taken a deep root, and has spread its branches far and
wide,’ said Lord George to his secretary. ‘This is a pleasant hearing. I
thank Heaven for it!’
‘Amen!’ cried Gashford with a solemn face.
‘You do not understand me, my lord,’ said the widow. ‘Pardon me, but you
cruelly mistake my meaning. We know nothing of these matters. We have no
desire or right to join in what you are about to do. This is my son, my
poor afflicted son, dearer to me than my own life. In mercy’s name, my
lord, go your way alone, and do not tempt him into danger!’
‘My good woman,’ said Gashford, ‘how can you!--Dear me!--What do you
mean by tempting, and by danger? Do you think his lordship is a roaring
lion, going about and seeking whom he may devour? God bless me!’
‘No, no, my lord, forgive me,’ implored the widow, laying both her hands
upon his breast, and scarcely knowing what she did, or said, in the
earnestness of her supplication, ‘but there are reasons why you should
hear my earnest, mother’s prayer, and leave my son with me. Oh do! He is
not in his right senses, he is not, indeed!’
‘It is a bad sign of the wickedness of these times,’ said Lord George,
evading her touch, and colouring deeply, ‘that those who cling to the
truth and support the right cause, are set down as mad. Have you the
heart to say this of your own son, unnatural mother!’
‘I am astonished at you!’ said Gashford, with a kind of meek severity.
‘This is a very sad picture of female depravity.’
‘He has surely no appearance,’ said Lord George, glancing at Barnaby,
and whispering in his secretary’s ear, ‘of being deranged? And even
if he had, we must not construe any trifling peculiarity into madness.
Which of us’--and here he turned red again--‘would be safe, if that were
made the law!’
‘Not one,’ replied the secretary; ‘in that case, the greater the zeal,
the truth, and talent; the more direct the call from above; the clearer
would be the madness. With regard to this young man, my lord,’ he added,
with a lip that slightly curled as he looked at Barnaby, who stood
twirling his hat, and stealthily beckoning them to come away, ‘he is as
sensible and self-possessed as any one I ever saw.’
‘And you desire to make one of this great body?’ said Lord George,
addressing him; ‘and intended to make one, did you?’
‘Yes--yes,’ said Barnaby, with sparkling eyes. ‘To be sure I did! I told
her so myself.’
‘I see,’ replied Lord George, with a reproachful glance at the unhappy
mother. ‘I thought so. Follow me and this gentleman, and you shall have
your wish.’
Barnaby kissed his mother tenderly on the cheek, and bidding her be
of good cheer, for their fortunes were both made now, did as he was
desired. She, poor woman, followed too--with how much fear and grief it
would be hard to tell.
They passed quickly through the Bridge Road, where the shops were all
shut up (for the passage of the great crowd and the expectation of
their return had alarmed the tradesmen for their goods and windows),
and where, in the upper stories, all the inhabitants were congregated,
looking down into the street below, with faces variously expressive
of alarm, of interest, expectancy, and indignation. Some of these
applauded, and some hissed; but regardless of these interruptions--for
the noise of a vast congregation of people at a little distance, sounded
in his ears like the roaring of the sea--Lord George Gordon quickened
his pace, and presently arrived before St George’s Fields.
They were really fields at that time, and of considerable extent. Here
an immense multitude was collected, bearing flags of various kinds
and sizes, but all of the same colour--blue, like the cockades--some
sections marching to and fro in military array, and others drawn up in
circles, squares, and lines. A large portion, both of the bodies
which paraded the ground, and of those which remained stationary, were
occupied in singing hymns or psalms. With whomsoever this originated, it
was well done; for the sound of so many thousand voices in the air must
have stirred the heart of any man within him, and could not fail to have
a wonderful effect upon enthusiasts, however mistaken.
Scouts had been posted in advance of the great body, to give notice of
their leader’s coming. These falling back, the word was quickly passed
through the whole host, and for a short interval there ensued a profound
and deathlike silence, during which the mass was so still and
quiet, that the fluttering of a banner caught the eye, and became a
circumstance of note. Then they burst into a tremendous shout, into
another, and another; and the air seemed rent and shaken, as if by the
discharge of cannon.
‘Gashford!’ cried Lord George, pressing his secretary’s arm tight within
his own, and speaking with as much emotion in his voice, as in his
altered face, ‘I am called indeed, now. I feel and know it. I am the
leader of a host. If they summoned me at this moment with one voice to
lead them on to death, I’d do it--Yes, and fall first myself!’
‘It is a proud sight,’ said the secretary. ‘It is a noble day for
England, and for the great cause throughout the world. Such homage, my
lord, as I, an humble but devoted man, can render--’
‘What are you doing?’ cried his master, catching him by both hands;
for he had made a show of kneeling at his feet. ‘Do not unfit me, dear
Gashford, for the solemn duty of this glorious day--’ the tears stood in
the eyes of the poor gentleman as he said the words.--‘Let us go
among them; we have to find a place in some division for this new
recruit--give me your hand.’
Gashford slid his cold insidious palm into his master’s grasp, and so,
hand in hand, and followed still by Barnaby and by his mother too, they
mingled with the concourse.
They had by this time taken to their singing again, and as their leader
passed between their ranks, they raised their voices to their utmost.
Many of those who were banded together to support the religion of their
country, even unto death, had never heard a hymn or psalm in all their
lives. But these fellows having for the most part strong lungs, and
being naturally fond of singing, chanted any ribaldry or nonsense that
occurred to them, feeling pretty certain that it would not be detected
in the general chorus, and not caring much if it were. Many of these
voluntaries were sung under the very nose of Lord George Gordon, who,
quite unconscious of their burden, passed on with his usual stiff and
solemn deportment, very much edified and delighted by the pious conduct
of his followers.
So they went on and on, up this line, down that, round the exterior of
this circle, and on every side of that hollow square; and still there
were lines, and squares, and circles out of number to review. The day
being now intensely hot, and the sun striking down his fiercest rays
upon the field, those who carried heavy banners began to grow faint
and weary; most of the number assembled were fain to pull off their
neckcloths, and throw their coats and waistcoats open; and some, towards
the centre, quite overpowered by the excessive heat, which was of course
rendered more unendurable by the multitude around them, lay down upon
the grass, and offered all they had about them for a drink of water.
Still, no man left the ground, not even of those who were so distressed;
still Lord George, streaming from every pore, went on with Gashford; and
still Barnaby and his mother followed close behind them.
They had arrived at the top of a long line of some eight hundred men in
single file, and Lord George had turned his head to look back, when a
loud cry of recognition--in that peculiar and half-stifled tone which a
voice has, when it is raised in the open air and in the midst of a
great concourse of persons--was heard, and a man stepped with a shout
of laughter from the rank, and smote Barnaby on the shoulders with his
heavy hand.
‘How now!’ he cried. ‘Barnaby Rudge! Why, where have you been hiding for
these hundred years?’
Barnaby had been thinking within himself that the smell of the trodden
grass brought back his old days at cricket, when he was a young boy
and played on Chigwell Green. Confused by this sudden and boisterous
address, he stared in a bewildered manner at the man, and could scarcely
say ‘What! Hugh!’
‘Hugh!’ echoed the other; ‘ay, Hugh--Maypole Hugh! You remember my dog?
He’s alive now, and will know you, I warrant. What, you wear the colour,
do you? Well done! Ha ha ha!’
‘You know this young man, I see,’ said Lord George.
‘Know him, my lord! as well as I know my own right hand. My captain
knows him. We all know him.’
‘Will you take him into your division?’
‘It hasn’t in it a better, nor a nimbler, nor a more active man, than
Barnaby Rudge,’ said Hugh. ‘Show me the man who says it has! Fall in,
Barnaby. He shall march, my lord, between me and Dennis; and he shall
carry,’ he added, taking a flag from the hand of a tired man who
tendered it, ‘the gayest silken streamer in this valiant army.’
‘In the name of God, no!’ shrieked the widow, darting forward.
‘Barnaby--my lord--see--he’ll come back--Barnaby--Barnaby!’
‘Women in the field!’ cried Hugh, stepping between them, and holding her