Hi, Jo here, talking about the restless politics of 1817, but also sharing a window into life in the past. As I said back in December, My Company of Rogues books began in 1814 because the plot tied into Napoleon's abdication. I've written 15 Rogues books since and managed to progress slowly because I knew that as the post-war years marched on, the political situation would become darker.
Peace after war is euphoric, but the aftermath is usually difficult. Wars are expensive, so even victorious countries have huge debts. Peace can open up markets, but it often also allows in competition. Economies are often depressed just when large numbers of men return home seeking work and feeling entitled to the good things in life. The result -- unrest, and even riotous rebellion.
In December I mentioned some of the riots and uprisings, but not one in Ardwick, near Manchester. It led to the arrest of a group of men who were sent to London in chains to be examined by the Privy Council presided over by Lord Sidmouth, the Home Secretary. (That's an early portrait, from 1803. We can tell by the hairstyle.)
Sidmouth was intensely involved in keeping the peace by suppressing dissent. He's tricky to judge from centuries on. Much of the unrest was by honest people suffering in difficult times, but some was the work of those who wanted to change society into what we now would call communism, whilst others wanted to create in Britain the sort of revolution that had torn France apart less than thirty years earlier and led to great slaughter and misery.
Was Sidmouth the oppressive hand of aristocratic tyranny, or a minister valliantly fighting terrorism? We can see it either way as people did then.
I was interested however to have a glimpse of Sidmouth through the eyes of one of the men taken to London, Samuel Bamford, who wrote an account of his life including those events.
If you would like to read it, his early life is available in various formats here.
His later life, including his radical activity is here.
Bamford was a weaver, but had received some education at Manchester Grammar School. He is clearly a clever and shrewd man, and though a reforming radical by temperament he avoided the people trying to stir up violence. However, he was connected to some of the people involved in trouble in Ardwick and found himself in a coach heading south. Below is his account of his appearance before the privvy council.
I find it interesting for the picture of the event and people, but also for his equanimity under stress. Of course he might be presenting himself in a good light, but other aspects of his story, including the high opinion of those who dealt with him on this and a later occasion, bears it out.
"ABOUT four o'clock in the afternoon we were conveyed in four coaches to the Secretary of State's office at Whitehall. On our arrival we were divided into two parties of four and four,
and each party was placed in a separate room. A gentleman now appeared, who asked severally our names and occupations, which he wrote in a book, and then retired. In a short time
another person came and called my name, and I rose and followed him along a darkish passage.
I must confess that this part of the proceedings gave rise to some feelings of incertitude and curiosity, and brought to my recollection some matters which I had read when a boy about the Inquisition in Spain. My conductor knocked at a door and was told to go in, which he did, and delivered me to an elderly gentleman, whom I recognised as Sir Nathaniel Conant.
He asked my Christian and surname, which were given : he then advanced to another door, and desiring me to follow him, he opened it, and, bowing to a number of gentlemen seated at a long table covered with green cloth, he repeated my name and took his place near my left hand.
The room was a large one, and grandly furnished, according to my notions of such matters. Two large windows, with green blinds and rich curtains, opened upon a richer curtain of nature some trees, which were in beautiful leaf. The chimney-piece was of carved marble, and on the table were many books; and several persons sat there assiduously writing, whilst others fixed attentive looks upon me.
I was motioned to advance to the bottom of the table, and did so : and the gentleman who sat at the head of the table said I was brought there by virtue of a warrant issued by him in consequence of my being suspected of high treason ; that I should not be examined at that time, but must be committed to close confinement until that day se'nnight, when I should again be brought up for examination. Meantime, if I had anything to say on my own behalf, or any request to make, I was at liberty to do so; but I must observe they did not require me to say anything.
The person who addressed me was a tall, square, and bony figure, upwards of fifty years of age, I should suppose, and with thin and rather grey hair ; his forehead was broad and prominent, and from their cavernous orbits looked mild and intelligent eyes. His manner was affable, and much more encouraging to freedom of speech than I had expected. (This is Sidmouth, so we can see he'd changed.)
On his left sat a gentleman whom I never made out ; and next him again was Sir Samuel Shepherd, the Attorney- General, I think, for the time, who frequently made use of an ear trumpet.
On Lord Sidmouth's right, for such was the gentleman who had been speaking to me, sat a good-looking person in a plum-coloured coat, with a gold ring on the small finger of his left hand, on which he sometimes leaned his head as he eyed me over. This was Lord Castlereagh. (That fits the portrait here, and I like that Bamford notices the coat colour and ring.)
"My lord," I said, addressing the president, "having been brought from home without a change of linen, I wish to be informed how I shall be provided for in that respect until I can be supplied from home? "
The Council conferred a short time, and Lord Sidmouth said I should be supplied with what-ever was necessary.
I next asked, should I be allowed freely to correspond with my wife and child, inform them of my situation, and to receive their letters, provided such letters did not contain politicalinformation.
" You will be allowed to communicate with your family," said his lordship ; " but I trust you will see the necessity of confining yourself to matters of a domestic nature. You will always write in the presence of a person who will examine your letters ; you will, therefore, do well to be guarded in your correspondence, as nothing of an improper tendency will be suffered to pass. I speak this for your own good."
"Could I be permitted to have pen, ink, and paper in prison? " I asked ; " and could I be allowed to keep a small day-book, or journal, for my amusement ? "
"It is an indulgence," was the reply, "which has never been granted to any State prisoner ; and as I do not see any reason for departing from the established rule, I should feel it my painful duty to refuse it."
I said I had heard that the Suspension Act (Suspension of Habeas Corpus) contained a clause securing to State prisoners the right of sending petitions to Parliament ; and I wished to be informed if there were such a clause.
His lordship said the Suspension Act did not contain any such clause, but the power to petition would be allowed by his Majesty's ministers, and I should have that liberty whenever I thought proper to use it. I bowed and retired.
(Section about other prisoners omited.)
In the same vehicle which brought us to the Home Office, we were next taken to the prison at Coldbath Fields, and placed in the inner lodge until a ward could be got ready for our occupation. O'Connor, who was unwell, and whose legs were swollen and painful from the gout and his chains, was taken from us and put into a sick ward, as was also Egbert Eidings, who was likewise in delicate health, and who, being already incipiently consumptive, died soon after his return, from colds, as he thought, taken during his journey homewards.
Whilst we were in the lodge, Evans the younger, one of the London reformers who, as well as his father, was confined in this prison under the Suspension Act came to the gate to speak with a friend. Samuel Drummond also, who has been mentioned as being apprehended at the Blanket meeting, (the Blanketeers gathering, March 1817) was walking in a courtyard, seemingly in good health and spirits.
When our place was ready a turnkey conducted the six of us who remained together through a number of winding passages to a flagged yard, into which opened a good room, or cell, about ten yards in length and three in width. On each side of the room were three beds, placed in what might be termed wooden troughs ; at the head of the room a good fire was burning, and we found a stock of coal and wood to recruit it at our pleasure. There were also a number of chairs, a table, candles, and other requisites ; so that, had it not been for the grating at the window above the door, and the arched roof, bound by strong bars of iron, we might have fancied ourselves to be in a comfortable barrack.
After surveying the place thoroughly, and striking the walls to ascertain if they were hollow, we stirred up the fire, drew our seats to the hearth, and spent the evening in conversing about our families and friends until the hour of rest, when we concluded by singing " The Union Hymn," which I led for that purpose."
Perhaps because they were state prisoners their treatment was much better than I expected.
"At breakfast time the turnkey again made his appearance, with another man, who took from a basket six loaves of bread of nearly a pound each, a pipkin containing two pounds of butter, a jar with two pounds of sugar, a canister with one pound of tea, six cups and basins, salt, plates, dishes, half a dozen knives and forks, a kettle, a pan, and other articles to complete a kitchen service, to which were added a wash-basin, soap, and clean towel, so that we began to look a little homely, and soon having the kettle boiling, we sat down to a comfortable cup of tea,wishing that those at home, and all others who deserved it, might have as good a breakfast as ourselves.
At noon we dined on a quarter of pork, with potatoes and other vegetables, to dilute which each man was allowed a pot of porter, and pipes and tobacco were added. Our supper was tea and cold meat, and thus, so far as diet was concerned, we lived more like gentlemen than prisoners. I recollect, however, one of the party shaking his head at what appeared to us profusion, and observing that he did not think any better of his own case for all that; "for," said he, "it's always the way here ; when they intend to hang 'em, they let 'em have whatever they choose to eat or drink only they will hang 'em at last."
Do you find this prison life as surprising as I do?
That's why I like these first-person accounts. They can be full of surprises.
Put yourself in Regency England in 1817. The Reign of Terror of the French Revolution took place in 1793, only 24 years earlier.
That's the same as events in 1990. It was living memory for most of the British population, and had happened only across the Channel. You might have known people who'd died or lost loved ones. Jane Austen did.
Would you have been out in protest, demanding reform? Or would you have been urging the government to stronger measures to prevent gatherings and enforce the peace?
That's one of the threads running through my work in progress, Too Dangerous for a Lady, which will be out next year. 1817 wasn't an easy time.
Jo