Newgate, A-Hoy!

The nadir of public order in eighteenth-century London came with the spasm of anti-Catholic violence that erupted in the hot days of early June 1780. The Gordon riots took Londoners by surprise and drove the city to the point of civil collapse. The streets were overrun with rioters moving from house to house, attacking Catholic houses and chapels and the houses of magistrates who opposed the will of the mob. Although almost no one was killed by the rioters, it took over a week, and the deaths of 285 men and women at the hands of the army, before a sepulchral peace could be reclaimed. In the aftermath of those days of destruction, the court at the Old Bailey (itself damaged in the riots) was called upon to mete out justice to the perpetrators. In the end only 160 of the tens of thousands involved were actually charged and only 25 eventually executed. To find yourself before the court you literally had to stand out from the crowd. James Jackson, Thomas Haycock, George Sims and Benjamin Bowsey (Click on the link to read the original court proceedings text) did just that.

Lord George Gordon’s ‘Monster Petition’ was so large it could not be carried by even the strongest man. Filled with 40,000 signatures, and composed of hundreds of sheets of parchment rolled up into a huge bundle, it demanded the immediate repeal of the almost entirely innocuous ‘Catholic Relief Act’ of 1778. This act had removed some technical bars to inheritance and property holding for Catholics and lifted the threat of life imprisonment for priests. It also obliged Catholics to take an oath of loyalty to the crown. For many Londoners, however, the Catholic Relief Act was a wedge issue that appealed to a centuries’ long tradition of anti-Catholic sentiment. Few could resist an appeal to rally in defence of the Protestant religion, which seemed to many to stand as much for traditional English liberties as for a body of religious beliefs.

By 10 in the morning on 2 June it was already hot and St George’s Fields, to the south of the river, began to fill with supporters of Lord Gordon, his ‘Monster Petition’ and the Protestant Association he led. The intention was to deliver the petition to parliament and force the repeal of the act. Thousands of blue cockades were issued to the crowd, which was then divided into four companies. In the lead a Scottish division set the pace to the sound of bagpipes. It was led by a kilted Highlander, with drawn sword. Following behind were divisions from the City, Westminster and Southwark. In martial order the protesters marched across London Bridge, and up Fish Street Hill and Grace Church Street to Cheapside. Some contemporaries put their number at upwards of 100,000, although more conservative (and better informed) commentators estimated it at 14,000. Historians have argued about the precise social mix of the petitioners who set out from St George’s Fields, but it is clear that as this army of protest marched through the London streets many of the poor and unemployed joined its number. As this first group travelled along the traditional medieval procession route through London (from St Paul’s to the Palace of Westminster), others took the shorter route across Westminster Bridge, to meet their fellows with an ear-splitting cheer in Parliament Street and New Palace Yard.

There followed hours of milling about as Lord Gordon tried to use the threat of public clamour to force parliament to his anti-Catholic will. A few days later, a young law student, Samuel Romilly, wrote to his brother describing the scene:
They seemed to consist in a great measure of the lowest rabble. A miserable fanatic accosted me to question where my cockade was, and told me that the reign of the Romans had lasted too long. I mingled in a circle which I saw assembled around a female preacher, who, by her gestures and actions seemed to be well persuaded that she was animated by some supernatural spirit. The want of a cockade was a sure indication of a want of the true faith, and I did not long remain unquestioned as to my religious principles. My joining, however, in the cry of ‘No Popery!’ soon pacified my inquisitors, or rather, indeed, gained me their favour; for a very devout butcher insisted upon shaking hands with me as a token of friendship.

Members of Parliament and the House of Lords were manhandled and threatened, and above the whole Lord Gordon played the demagogue. In the end, the vote was deferred in the hope of dispersing the crowd. But disappointed of an immediate repeal, after a long hot day milling about and awaiting news, this Protestant melée slowly turned into a riotous assembly. In the hours after midnight, the Catholic chapel of the Sardinian ambassador was broken into and set alight, the moveable furniture fuelling one of the tens of bonfires that sprang up throughout the city. By the next morning the chapel belonging to the Bavarian Embassy in Warwick Street had been similarly looted, and the streets were full of the dead embers of countless bonfires.

In the days that followed, the homes of prominent Catholics were attacked, and groups of men and women roamed the streets, extorting money to support the cause – many with an iron bar in one hand and a hat held ‘in a begging way’ in the other, demanding what they called ‘mob money’. At night, lights were put in the front windows of houses in a general illumination. The lack of a candle was likely to result in the unwelcome attention of the crowds. Political prevarication and uncertainty fuelled the crisis, which grew ever more violent as Saturday turned to Sunday and then Monday.