Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty
off. ‘Holloa! My captain there!’
‘What’s the matter here?’ cried Simon Tappertit, bustling up in a great
heat. ‘Do you call this order?’
‘Nothing like it, captain,’ answered Hugh, still holding her back with
his outstretched hand. ‘It’s against all orders. Ladies are carrying
off our gallant soldiers from their duty. The word of command, captain!
They’re filing off the ground. Quick!’
‘Close!’ cried Simon, with the whole power of his lungs. ‘Form! March!’
She was thrown to the ground; the whole field was in motion; Barnaby was
whirled away into the heart of a dense mass of men, and she saw him no
more.
Chapter 49
The mob had been divided from its first assemblage into four divisions;
the London, the Westminster, the Southwark, and the Scotch. Each of
these divisions being subdivided into various bodies, and these bodies
being drawn up in various forms and figures, the general arrangement
was, except to the few chiefs and leaders, as unintelligible as the
plan of a great battle to the meanest soldier in the field. It was not
without its method, however; for, in a very short space of time after
being put in motion, the crowd had resolved itself into three great
parties, and were prepared, as had been arranged, to cross the river
by different bridges, and make for the House of Commons in separate
detachments.
At the head of that division which had Westminster Bridge for its
approach to the scene of action, Lord George Gordon took his post; with
Gashford at his right hand, and sundry ruffians, of most unpromising
appearance, forming a kind of staff about him. The conduct of a second
party, whose route lay by Blackfriars, was entrusted to a committee of
management, including perhaps a dozen men: while the third, which was to
go by London Bridge, and through the main streets, in order that their
numbers and their serious intentions might be the better known and
appreciated by the citizens, were led by Simon Tappertit (assisted by
a few subalterns, selected from the Brotherhood of United Bulldogs),
Dennis the hangman, Hugh, and some others.
The word of command being given, each of these great bodies took the
road assigned to it, and departed on its way, in perfect order and
profound silence. That which went through the City greatly exceeded the
others in number, and was of such prodigious extent that when the
rear began to move, the front was nearly four miles in advance,
notwithstanding that the men marched three abreast and followed very
close upon each other.
At the head of this party, in the place where Hugh, in the madness
of his humour, had stationed him, and walking between that dangerous
companion and the hangman, went Barnaby; as many a man among the
thousands who looked on that day afterwards remembered well. Forgetful
of all other things in the ecstasy of the moment, his face flushed and
his eyes sparkling with delight, heedless of the weight of the great
banner he carried, and mindful only of its flashing in the sun and
rustling in the summer breeze, on he went, proud, happy, elated past
all telling:--the only light-hearted, undesigning creature, in the whole
assembly.
‘What do you think of this?’ asked Hugh, as they passed through the
crowded streets, and looked up at the windows which were thronged with
spectators. ‘They have all turned out to see our flags and streamers?
Eh, Barnaby? Why, Barnaby’s the greatest man of all the pack! His flag’s
the largest of the lot, the brightest too. There’s nothing in the show,
like Barnaby. All eyes are turned on him. Ha ha ha!’
‘Don’t make that din, brother,’ growled the hangman, glancing with
no very approving eyes at Barnaby as he spoke: ‘I hope he don’t think
there’s nothing to be done, but carrying that there piece of blue rag,
like a boy at a breaking up. You’re ready for action I hope, eh? You, I
mean,’ he added, nudging Barnaby roughly with his elbow. ‘What are you
staring at? Why don’t you speak?’
Barnaby had been gazing at his flag, and looked vacantly from his
questioner to Hugh.
‘He don’t understand your way,’ said the latter. ‘Here, I’ll explain it
to him. Barnaby old boy, attend to me.’
‘I’ll attend,’ said Barnaby, looking anxiously round; ‘but I wish I
could see her somewhere.’
‘See who?’ demanded Dennis in a gruff tone. ‘You an’t in love I hope,
brother? That an’t the sort of thing for us, you know. We mustn’t have
no love here.’
‘She would be proud indeed to see me now, eh Hugh?’ said Barnaby.
‘Wouldn’t it make her glad to see me at the head of this large show?
She’d cry for joy, I know she would. Where CAN she be? She never sees me
at my best, and what do I care to be gay and fine if SHE’S not by?’
‘Why, what palaver’s this?’ asked Mr Dennis with supreme disdain. ‘We
an’t got no sentimental members among us, I hope.’
‘Don’t be uneasy, brother,’ cried Hugh, ‘he’s only talking of his
mother.’
‘Of his what?’ said Mr Dennis with a strong oath.
‘His mother.’
‘And have I combined myself with this here section, and turned out on
this here memorable day, to hear men talk about their mothers!’ growled
Mr Dennis with extreme disgust. ‘The notion of a man’s sweetheart’s bad
enough, but a man’s mother!’--and here his disgust was so extreme that
he spat upon the ground, and could say no more.
‘Barnaby’s right,’ cried Hugh with a grin, ‘and I say it. Lookee, bold
lad. If she’s not here to see, it’s because I’ve provided for her, and
sent half-a-dozen gentlemen, every one of ‘em with a blue flag (but not
half as fine as yours), to take her, in state, to a grand house all
hung round with gold and silver banners, and everything else you please,
where she’ll wait till you come, and want for nothing.’
‘Ay!’ said Barnaby, his face beaming with delight: ‘have you indeed?
That’s a good hearing. That’s fine! Kind Hugh!’
‘But nothing to what will come, bless you,’ retorted Hugh, with a
wink at Dennis, who regarded his new companion in arms with great
astonishment.
‘No, indeed?’ cried Barnaby.
‘Nothing at all,’ said Hugh. ‘Money, cocked hats and feathers, red coats
and gold lace; all the fine things there are, ever were, or will be;
will belong to us if we are true to that noble gentleman--the best man
in the world--carry our flags for a few days, and keep ‘em safe. That’s
all we’ve got to do.’
‘Is that all?’ cried Barnaby with glistening eyes, as he clutched his
pole the tighter; ‘I warrant you I keep this one safe, then. You have
put it in good hands. You know me, Hugh. Nobody shall wrest this flag
away.’
‘Well said!’ cried Hugh. ‘Ha ha! Nobly said! That’s the old stout
Barnaby, that I have climbed and leaped with, many and many a day--I
knew I was not mistaken in Barnaby.--Don’t you see, man,’ he added in
a whisper, as he slipped to the other side of Dennis, ‘that the lad’s a
natural, and can be got to do anything, if you take him the right way?
Letting alone the fun he is, he’s worth a dozen men, in earnest, as
you’d find if you tried a fall with him. Leave him to me. You shall soon
see whether he’s of use or not.’
Mr Dennis received these explanatory remarks with many nods and winks,
and softened his behaviour towards Barnaby from that moment. Hugh,
laying his finger on his nose, stepped back into his former place, and
they proceeded in silence.
It was between two and three o’clock in the afternoon when the three
great parties met at Westminster, and, uniting into one huge mass,
raised a tremendous shout. This was not only done in token of their
presence, but as a signal to those on whom the task devolved, that it
was time to take possession of the lobbies of both Houses, and of
the various avenues of approach, and of the gallery stairs. To the
last-named place, Hugh and Dennis, still with their pupil between them,
rushed straightway; Barnaby having given his flag into the hands of one
of their own party, who kept them at the outer door. Their followers
pressing on behind, they were borne as on a great wave to the very doors
of the gallery, whence it was impossible to retreat, even if they had
been so inclined, by reason of the throng which choked up the passages.
It is a familiar expression in describing a great crowd, that a person
might have walked upon the people’s heads. In this case it was actually
done; for a boy who had by some means got among the concourse, and was
in imminent danger of suffocation, climbed to the shoulders of a man
beside him and walked upon the people’s hats and heads into the open
street; traversing in his passage the whole length of two staircases and
a long gallery. Nor was the swarm without less dense; for a basket
which had been tossed into the crowd, was jerked from head to head,
and shoulder to shoulder, and went spinning and whirling on above them,
until it was lost to view, without ever once falling in among them or
coming near the ground.
Through this vast throng, sprinkled doubtless here and there with honest
zealots, but composed for the most part of the very scum and refuse
of London, whose growth was fostered by bad criminal laws, bad prison
regulations, and the worst conceivable police, such of the members of
both Houses of Parliament as had not taken the precaution to be already
at their posts, were compelled to fight and force their way. Their
carriages were stopped and broken; the wheels wrenched off; the glasses
shivered to atoms; the panels beaten in; drivers, footmen, and masters,
pulled from their seats and rolled in the mud. Lords, commoners, and
reverend bishops, with little distinction of person or party, were
kicked and pinched and hustled; passed from hand to hand through various
stages of ill-usage; and sent to their fellow-senators at last with
their clothes hanging in ribands about them, their bagwigs torn off,
themselves speechless and breathless, and their persons covered with the
powder which had been cuffed and beaten out of their hair. One lord was
so long in the hands of the populace, that the Peers as a body resolved
to sally forth and rescue him, and were in the act of doing so, when he
happily appeared among them covered with dirt and bruises, and hardly to
be recognised by those who knew him best. The noise and uproar were on
the increase every moment. The air was filled with execrations, hoots,
and howlings. The mob raged and roared, like a mad monster as it was,
unceasingly, and each new outrage served to swell its fury.
Within doors, matters were even yet more threatening. Lord
George--preceded by a man who carried the immense petition on a porter’s
knot through the lobby to the door of the House of Commons, where it
was received by two officers of the house who rolled it up to the table
ready for presentation--had taken his seat at an early hour, before the
Speaker went to prayers. His followers pouring in at the same time, the
lobby and all the avenues were immediately filled, as we have seen. Thus
the members were not only attacked in their passage through the streets,
but were set upon within the very walls of Parliament; while the tumult,
both within and without, was so great, that those who attempted to speak
could scarcely hear their own voices: far less, consult upon the course
it would be wise to take in such extremity, or animate each other to
dignified and firm resistance. So sure as any member, just arrived, with
dress disordered and dishevelled hair, came struggling through the crowd
in the lobby, it yelled and screamed in triumph; and when the door
of the House, partially and cautiously opened by those within for his
admission, gave them a momentary glimpse of the interior, they grew
more wild and savage, like beasts at the sight of prey, and made a rush
against the portal which strained its locks and bolts in their staples,
and shook the very beams.