The Rising of 1715
England, it has been epigramatically said, is governed by reactions. There is more truth in the remark than is usually found in smart sayings. There is an ebb and flow in the political tide, the waves which thunder against the bulwarks and threaten to overwhelm the peaceful town beyond them, fall calmly back again to their sandy bed. An example of this phenomenon we have in the intense Jacobitism of Lancashire at the commencement of the last century. Lancashire was not without gallant cavaliers who charged for the “King and the Laws” behind the fiery Rupert, but the county at large swore by the Parliament and struck some hard blows at the “Lord’s anointed.” The memorable “petition for peace” was drawn up by a Manchester man, and the first victims of that civil war which was to drench England with blood, were inhabitants of that town. It was natural then to expect that the pendulum should swing right to the other extreme of its line, and that the descendants of those who had pulled down the monarch from his throne, and consigned him to the traitor’s block, should be sticklers for the right divine of kings to govern wrong, should risk fortune, life, and limb, to replace on the throne of his ancestors the double dealing James and his unfortunate descendants. There were some special causes which strengthened the hands of the Jacobites in this quarter. The Roman Catholics were distinguishable by their steady, unalterable loyalty to the House of Stuart, and the persecution to which they were subjected from the reign of Elizabeth downwards, only served to strengthen their attachment. The jealousy of the Low Church men, and the bitter antagonism of the Puritans was sufficient to defeat any amelioration of their condition which the Sovereign might desire, but in their sufferings they recollected that both Charles and his brother had been desirous of extending to them toleration for the exercise of their religion. The Dissenters, however, chose to endure the severities of the Test Act themselves, rather than do anything to hinder the harrying and persecution of the Romanists. The Roman Catholics had natural friends in the High Church men, who held in all fulness the doctrine of the divine right, and consequently the unlawfulness of the tenure by which King William and George I. held the throne. The clearness and distinctness with which this opinion was formulated must be considered if we would understand the motive power of the Jacobite rebellions.
According to them the King was God’s representative on earth, and unconditional obedience was due to all his commands. He might be a drunken, licentious scoundrel, a perjured villain, a red-handed murderer, a raving madman, but nothing on earth could invalidate his inborn kingly right, and whoso disobeyed him, was false to God and to his country. This opinion was supported by a second theory as to the patriarchal origin of monarchy. Adam and Abraham exercised regal power, therefore it was “unnatural for the people to govern or choose governors.” Charles II. is but an odd looking patriarch, although like the King of Yvetot, his subjects had a hundred reasons for calling him their father. However, as the learned O’Flaherty in his “Ogygia” tells us that the Stuarts were descended in a direct line from Adam (which is probable), and that it was the 124th generation that ascended the Scottish throne, Charles might perhaps claim his monarchical privileges as heir general of the Father of Mankind.
This leading doctrine of the High Church party was closely wedded to a sentiment of bitter dislike of the Protestant Dissenters. The impeachment of Sacheverell, the High Church clergyman, for his denunciation of the revolution of 1688, and of the principles which had brought it about, roused to fever heat all the evil passions of the time. His punishment (three years’ prohibition from preaching) was so slight as to be almost a triumph. In 1714 a bill for the repression of Schism was only prevented from coming in force by the death of Queen Anne.
The accession of George I. was a tremendous blow for the Jacobites, and in Manchester they went mad with rage. The Pretender’s birthday, Friday, the 10th of June, was fittingly selected as the time for wreaking their revenge on the Dissenters. On that day various places in England were disgraced by riotous mobs drinking health to King James, and breathing fiery vows of vengeance against the Presbyterians. The Manchester mob was second to none. The town was in a state of anarchy for days, and King Mob had it all his own way. With beating of drums they enlivened their marches, and with fiery potations inflamed their loyalty and piety. Woe to the luckless Nonconformist who came in their way! The riot was not unlike a rebellion. They had their recognised leaders: a colonel, whose name forgetful history has nowhere recorded; and a captain, Thomas Syddal, a sturdy blacksmith, the end of whose brawling life was not far off. They had the tacit encouragement of Jacobite magistrates, who left the rabble masters of the situation. The only Dissenting meeting-house in Manchester was in Acresfield, and is now known as Cross Street Unitarian Chapel. Headed by the valiant Syddal, these friends of the ancient constitution in Church and State attacked the humble meeting-house, and wrecked it completely. The bare walls were all the vestiges they left of the lowly house of prayer. So fine a performance did the mob consider it, that with infinite gusto they repeated it at Monton, Blackley, and in fact all the meeting-houses that fell in their way as they marched toward Yorkshire. Things were assuming so serious an aspect, and the local authorities were so unable or unwilling to check it effectually, that the Government had to interpose with a military force. It was not until there had been a fortnight’s carnival of riot and outrage that the Earl of Stair dispersed the Manchester band, and took prisoners its leading men. Occasional outbreaks in various places continued until the end of July. The House of Commons petitioned the King for the vigorous enforcement of the law, the punishment of neglectful justices, and the compensation from the public funds of the sufferers. The destruction of religious meeting-houses was declared to be felony without benefit of clergy, and, £1,500 was granted to the Protestant Dissenters of Manchester for the repair of their temple.
Syddal and his colonel were tried at Lancaster Assizes in August. In pursuance of their sentence they both decorated the pillory on the market day, whilst some looked on with scorn and more with sympathy. They were tenderly treated, for no man was allowed to fling anything at them; thus they escaped the worst part of the ordeal. From the pillory back to jail, and there they lay until their prison gates were opened by the army of James III. The High Church faction were a loose-living, hard-drinking race, fonder of confusing their brains by drinking “Confusion to the Elector of Hanover” than of striking home an honest blow for the King over the water. Their conspiracies were of the pot-house order, concocted over a flowing punch-bowl. They exaggerated probably even to themselves the strength of their party, and when the Scottish Jacobites (with whom the struggle was chiefly for the ancient integrity and independence of their kingdom) determined to raise the standard of the Pretender, they had received assurances that twenty thousand Lancashire men would join their forces. On the faith of these promises the Fiery Cross was sent flaming round the Highlands, and the rebellion, which, if confined to Scotland, would have had strong chances of success, was to be a general one. The Earl of Derwentwater and the Roman Catholic gentlemen of Northumberland effected a junction with the two Scottish armies at Kelso. This is not the place to chronicle the movements of the rebel army, their want of purpose, or their internal dissensions. The incompetence of their leader, a country squire turned into a general, whose jealousy of the military reputation of grim old Brigadier Mackintosh led him to reject wise counsel, brought on the fatal catastrophe which awaited them. At Langholm they were met by Lord Widdrington, who assured them of Lancashire aid and sympathy, and this determined at last their course of action. They marched into England, but not without misgivings on the part of the leaders, and many desertions on the part of the Highlanders, who were bitterly opposed to leaving Scotland. They were joined by very few men in their English march, the leaders were thoroughly dispirited, and Mackintosh, tough old soldier as he was, looked gloomily at the cheerless prospect before them.
At Kendal their cheerfulness was somewhat restored by the appearance of Lord Widdrington’s brother with news that Lancashire was ready to rise, that James III. had that day been proclaimed King at Manchester, where the townspeople had undertaken to furnish a troop of fifty men at their own expense, and where many volunteers might be expected. Instead of marching on Newcastle, where the Whig general was hurrying to meet them, they determined to advance to Lancaster. The loyalists were completely surprised at this descent into Lancashire. Sir Henry Houghton was at the head of a body of militia numbering 600. He could not obtain the aid of some dragoons who were stationed in Preston, but refused to stir without orders from London, and he was forced to retreat on Preston, and the army of King James took peaceful possession of the town with trumpets sounding, and the bare swords of the gentlemen glittering gaily as they rode triumphantly forward. The prisoners in the castle were now released from durance vile, and Syddal – Captain Syddal, as he was styled – attached himself to the regiment of the Earl of Derwentwater. Perhaps he was one of the lucky gentlemen soldiers, who dressed “in their best clothes,” went to drink a dish of tea with the ladies of Lancaster, which fair Jacobites were also “in their best rigging, and had their tea tables richly furnished for to entertain their new suitors.” On the 9th of November they marched to Preston, and were greatly encouraged by learning that the dragoons already mentioned had quitted that town. Less pleasing to them was the conduct of Peploe the curate, who had the courage to read with extra emphasis and unction the prayers for King George and his family. At Preston the rebels remained inactive, seemingly careless of the danger which threatened them. Carpenter was hastening from Newcastle, and a second force was hastening in detachments from the west to be placed under the command of General Wills in the neighbourhood. The plan of the campaign was drawn up by no less a man than Marlborough. On the 8th Wills passed through Manchester and found the town so disaffected that he quartered a thousand men in it, greatly to the disgust of the High Church Tories, some of whom were arrested, whilst others fled, or remained in concealment. Whilst the rebels were “feasting and courting” in Preston, bewitched by the Jacobite charms of what was then the most aristocratic and luxurious of the Lancashire towns, wasting the precious hours in contented lotos-eating, the Whigs were full of activity. Even Dissenting ministers in more than one case marched at the head of their congregations with muskets, scythes mounted on poles, and everything that could be tortured into weapons of offence, and joined the army of General Wills to fight for liberty and the Protestant succession. The Rev. James Woods, of Chowbent, was conspicuous in this way, and for the rest of his life was commonly known as “General” Woods.
Notwithstanding the military genius of Mackintosh who now planned the defence, the rebels after some hard fighting, on the arrival of Carpenter found themselves hopelessly surrounded. They sent Colonel Oxburgh to treat with Wills for a capitulation. “I will not treat with Rebels; they have killed several of the King’s subjects, and they must expect to undergo the same fate.” Such was Wills’ alternative, unconditional surrender, and only one hour in which to decide. This secret negotiation exasperated the Highlanders, who swore they would die fighting, and vowed they would shoot their muddle-headed General Forster if they had the chance. The time for consideration was afterwards extended after a further conference with some of the Scotch officers, who pledged themselves to a cessation from arms. Some six or seven rebels were, notwithstanding, cut to pieces in an attempt to escape. Mackintosh was now a hostage in the hands of the King’s forces, and on the 13th of November the defenders of Preston surrendered at discretion. Many of the rebels escaped, but the number of prisoners was 1,569.
The rebellion begun hastily and ignorantly, carried on through all its course with dissensions, quarrels, and the most lamentable incompetence, had arrived at its ignominious end, so far as England was concerned. Preston was for some time given up to plunder, and the prisoners reserved for retribution, in divers jails of Lancashire and Cheshire. The House of Hanover was never noticeable for mercy, and the retribution was a bloody one.
The landing of James in Scotland did no good at all. Above a thousand of the rebels were transported, some of the leaders amongst them; Forster and the brave old Mackintosh escaped, the one by fraud, the other by force. The number who were executed is not known. The hangman had a triumphant progress through Lancashire. On the eleventh of February, 1716, there came into Manchester a melancholy cavalcade. Bound to one horse by strong cords and surrounded by guards, there rode into the town dashing Tom Syddal, the former leader of the High Church mob in destroying the Dissenting chapels, and with him four others who had been condemned to death. They were hanged, drawn, and quartered, at Knott Mill. Syddal’s head was afterwards fixed on the Market Cross.
The Fool of Lancaster
“Take gifts with a sigh, most men give to be paid.” – J. B. O’Reilly. Rules of the Road.
This story, which is told in “Jack of Dover,” 1604, is instructive if not amusing: – “There was of late (quoth another of the jurie) a ploughman and a butcher dwelling in Lancaster who, for a trifling matter (like two fooles), went to law, and spent much money therein, almost to both their undoings; but at last, being both consented to be tride by a lawyer dwelling in the same town, each of them, in hope of a further favour, bestowed gyftes upon him. The ploughman first of all presented him a cupple of good fat hens, desiring Mr. Lawyer to stand his good friend, and to remember his suite in law, the which he courteously tooke at his handes, saying that what favour he could show him, he should be sure of the uttermost. But now, when the butcher heard of the presenting of these hens by the ploughman, hee went and presently killed a good fatte hogge, and in like manner presented it to the lawyer, as a bribe to draw him to his side; the which he also tooke very courteously, and promised the like to him as he did before to the other. But so it fell out, that shortly after the verdict passed on the butcher’s side; which when the ploughman had notice of, he came to the lawyer, and asked him wherefore his two hens were forgotten. Mary, quoth he, because there came in a fatte hogge and eate them up. Now a vengeance take that hog! quoth the ploughman, that eate both my suit in law and hens together! Well, quoth Jacke of Dover, this in my minde was pretty foolery, but yet the foole of all fooles is not heere found, that I looked for.”
This seems to have been a rather favourite jest, for it is given also in the “Pleasant Conceits of Old Hobson,” 1607, and in the “Mery Tales,” 1530, and is one of the mediæval jokes given by Wright in his “Latin Stories” (Percy Society).
Alexander Barclay and Manchester
Probably the first purely literary reference to Manchester is that contained in the first eclogue of Alexander Barclay. Of the two shepherds who carry on a dialogue, Cornix is the chief speaker, and graphically pourtrays the miseries of life at court. Early in the conversation comes this passage: —
Cornix
…
Thus all be fooles which willingly there dwell,
Coridon, the court is the bayting place of hell.
Coridon
That is hardly saide man, by the roode of rest.
Cornix
I graunt it is harde, but to say truth is best,
But yet shall I proue my saying veritable,
Aduert my wordes, see if I be culpable.
Unto our purpose: by diuers wayes three
Men may be fooles, I shall them count to thee:
They all be fooles which set their thought and minde
That thing for to seke which they shall neuer finde.
And they be fooles which seke thing with delite,
Which if they finde is harm and no profite;
And he is a foole, a sotte, and a geke also,
Which choseth a place unto the same to go,
And where diuers wayes lead thither directly
He choseth the worst and most of ieopardie:
As if diuers wayes laye unto Islington,
To Stow on the Wold, Quaueneth or Trompington,
To Douer, Durham, to Barwike or Exeter,
To Grantham, Totnes, Bristow, or good Manchester,
To Roan, Paris, to Lions or Floraunce.
Coridon
What ho man abide, what already in Fraunce.
Lo, a fayre journey, and shortly ended to,
With all these townes what thing have we to do?
Cornix
By God man knowe thou that I haue had to do
In all these townes and yet in many mo,
To see the worlde in youth me thought was best,
And after in age to geue my selfe to rest.
Coridon
Thou might haue brought one and set by our village.
Cornix
What man I might not for lacke of cariage.
To cary mine owne selfe was all that euer I might,
And sometime for ease my sachell made I light.
Coridon
To our first matter we better must entende,
Els in twelue monthes we scant shall make an ende.
(Spenser Society’s Reprint, pp. 5-6.)
This passage has not escaped the notice either of Mr. T. H. Jamieson, who has edited Barclay’s translation of the “Stultifera Navis,” or of Dr. A. W. Ward, who has written his life in the “Dictionary of National Biography,” and puts the query that Godmanchester may be meant. The eclogue from which the quotation is taken, together with two others, are said to be “gathered out of a booke named in Latin, ‘Miseriæ Curialium,’ compiled by Æneas Silvius, Poet and Oratour.” This, of course, means that member of the Piccolomini family, who, after an earlier life not free from reproach, made a decorous pontiff, as Pope Pius II., and died in 1464. This book, drawn from his own experience of the unhappy life of courtiers, was the most popular of all his writings. It was often reprinted, but whether Barclay worked from a printed or a MS. copy is not known. Now, what his principles of translation were we know, both from his declaration and practice. In his version of Brandt’s “Ship of Fools,” he tells how he added and omitted as seemed best for his purpose of producing a book that should aid in strengthening the morality of the time. And in dealing with Æneas Sylvius, he has been even freer than in dealing with Brandt. Of the “Miseriæ Curialium,” there are several editions in the British Museum, and those of Paris (1475?), Cologne (1468?), Rome (1485? and 1578), have been examined for me by Dr. W. A. Shaw, to whom my best thanks are due for his kindness. “The book,” he says, “of Æneas Sylvius is in prose, and, in epistolary form addressed to ‘dñō Johī de Arch Pspicaci et claro Jurū cōsulto.’ There is none of the eclogue and dialogue form of Barclay’s work; there are no interlocutors, and there are no references, save to such names of classical antiquity as serve for satirical notice, in, say, Juvenal, with the exception that, in the section treating of the table and pleasures of eating, he refers briefly to the place of origin of the better known delicacies. There is no mention of Manchester, nor of England, from first to last, nor any possibility of it from the style of the letter, and taking it casually, side by side with Barclay, I cannot find a parallel point which would suggest a translation.”
We may, therefore, probably regard the passage as strictly autobiographical, and conclude that, in his wandering life as a preaching friar, Barclay, at some time or other, visited Manchester. From internal evidences, the eclogues are assigned to the year 1514, but it is curious that whilst there is a long reference to the death of John Alcock, Bishop of Ely, in 1500, there is none to his successors, Redmayne (1501) or Stanley (1509). The early editions of the eclogues are undated, and the first three eclogues were apparently issued before the others. There are many points of interest in regard to the life and work of Alexander Barclay, which cannot be discussed in directing attention to one of the earliest – probably the very earliest – purely literary mention of a place that in after ages has not been without claims to distinction in literature and science. The date of Barclay’s birth is conjecturally, but with tolerable certainty, fixed in 1476, and he died in 1552. Since the biographies by Mr. Jamieson and Dr. Ward were written, some fresh information has appeared in Mr. James Gairdner’s “Letters and Papers of the reign of Henry VIII.,” vol. xiii., pt. 2 (1893). These show that whilst Barclay was conscious of ecclesiastical abuses and desirous of their reform, he was an object of suspicion to those who were carrying out the work of the suppression of the monasteries, and ran some risk by his retention of the distinctive habit of the friars. Robert Ward writes on October 9th, 1538, to Cromwell that at Barking, Suffolk, when Barclay preached there in the Whitsun holidays, he did not declare the King’s supremacy. Ward states that he reproached the preacher for not doing so, but does not record his answer. On October 12th, William Dynham writes to Cromwell: “Of late I came to the priory of St. Germayne in Cornwall, and sat at supper with the Prior, accompanied by Alexander Barckley, who the day before preached in honour of the Blessed Virgin, but not so much to the edifying of his audience as his demeanour next day was, I heard, to their destruction. At supper I moved such questions as I thought might do good to the audience. He served my purpose, till, ‘after a sodeyne dompe, he brake silence, as a man that had spoken too well (and yet a frere in a somewhat honester weed),’ and glorified himself. He first protested he would preach no new things, not set out by the King and his Council. I answered, wondering what he meant, when all men of literature and judgment ‘knew that our so Christian a Prince and his Council set forth no new thing but the gospel of Christ, and the sincere verity thereof.’ Barckley replied, ‘I would to God that at the least the laws of God might have as much authority as the laws of the realm.’ Asked him what he meant, and Barckley said, Nothing, but he thought men were too busy pulling down images without special commandment of the Prince. Dynham answered, he knew none pulled down, except such as idolatry was committed unto, and reminded him ‘of St. Margarets Patent is rode’ (the rood of St. Margaret Pattens in London), and the assembly, although somewhat dispraised, yet for the intent and good fact thereof, tolerated. Here, he demanded, what followed thereof? I requiring him to answer his demand, he said I knew how many tenements and some people were burnt soon upon. ‘What, Barckley?’ said I, ‘here is somewhat moved; ye have a versatile ingeyne, but were ye so sleper as an eel, here will I hold you. Would you infect this audience with that opinion, that God for such cause plagued them? Your cankered heart is disclosed. My true little stomach, with reverence of the prior and his board, must be opened lest it break. You are, Barckley, a false knave and a dissembling frere. You get no pence might I rule here. You seek your own profit vocall to hinder the truth more than unity to set forth the true and princely endeavour of our most Crysten, and of his church Supremest Head, most laudable enterprises; whereof, I trust, thou shalt hear.’”
Writing to Cromwell on October 28th, Latimer says that “A man has written to him that Frere Bartlow does much hurt in ‘Corwall and in Daynshyre,’ both with open preaching and private communication. Suspects he has some comfort from Rome, through Dr. Nycolasse.’ The Abbot of Evesham, the bearer, asks Latimer to thank Cromwell for him. Thinks he will find few who will better remember his kindnesses. He seems a very civil and honest man, and one who puts all his trust in Cromwell. Requests Cromwell to maintain him in his right to what he has obtained by his goodness.” These passages enable Mr. Gairdner to identify the subject of this anecdote told by Foxe, the Martyrologist: “Hereunto also pertaineth the example of Friar Bartley, who wearing still his friar’s cowl after the suppression of religious houses, Cromwell coming through Paul’s Churchyard, and espying him in Rheines’s shop. ‘Yea,’ said he, ‘will not that cowl of yours be left off yet? And if I hear by one o’clock that this apparel be not changed, thou shalt be hanged immediately, for example to all others.’ And so, putting his cowl away, he durst never wear it after.” It is satisfactory to know that he survived these dangers, received some preferment, and died peaceably in 1552.