Recollections of Old Liverpool Part 7

CHAPTER XIV.

On Sunday morning, February 11, 1810, I was standing in St. Nicholas churchyard, in company with two old friends. We were waiting the arrival of the congregation, and the commencement of the morning service. The second bells were chiming. We had been looking on the river with that interest which is always felt in gazing upon such a scene. Our conversation had turned upon the benefits which a good sound Christian education must confer upon the lower cla.s.ses of society. Education at the period to which I refer was then beginning to take hold of the public mind, as an essential to the well-doing of the people. This subject in later years, as is known, has become an absorbing question. Our remarks had been evoked by the neat appearance of the children of the Moorfields Schools, who had just pa.s.sed near where we stood, as they entered the church. One of us remarked in reference to the Tower close by, that it was the dower of the Lady Blanche, the daughter of John O'Gaunt, who, although occupying so eminently marked a place in history, was a man so narrow-minded that he would not allow any of his va.s.sals to receive the least education as he held that it unfitted them for the duties of their station, and gave them ideas far above their lot in life. A curious speculation was hazarded by one of my friend's that as Water-street was anciently called "Bank-street," whether the word "Bank" ought not to have been "Blanche"-street; a name given to it in honour of the lady to whom the princ.i.p.al building in the street belonged, when, just as he had finished speaking, we heard, as if above us, a smart crack. On looking round to ascertain the cause, a sight burst upon our view, that none who witnessed it could ever forget. The instant we turned, we beheld the church tower give way, on the south-west side, and immediately afterwards the spire fell with a frightful and appalling crash into the body of the building. The spire seemed at first to topple over, and then it dropped perpendicularly like a pack of cards into a solid heap, burying everything, as may be supposed, below it. There were many persons in the churchyard, waiting to enter the sacred edifice, and, like ourselves, were struck dumb with horror and dismay at the frightful catastrophe. We were soon aroused to a state of consciousness, and inaction gave way to exertion. In a very short time, the noise of the crash had brought hundreds of persons into the churchyard to ascertain the cause. Amidst the rising dust were heard the dreadful screams of the poor children who had become involved in the ruins; and not long after, their screams were added to by the frantic exclamations of parents and friends who, in an incredibly short time had hurried to the scene of the disaster. Crowds of people rushed into the churchyard, some hurrying to and fro, scarcely knowing what to fear or what to do. That the children were to be exhumed was an immediate thought, and as immediately carried into execution. Men of all ranks were seen, quite regardless of their Sunday clothes, busily employed in removing the ruins--gentlemen, merchants, tradesmen, shopmen and apprentices, willingly aiding the st.u.r.dy labourers in their good work, and, in a short time, first one little sufferer, and then another, was dragged out from the ma.s.s of stone and brick and timber that lay in a confused heap. Twenty-eight little ones were at length brought out, of whom twenty-three were dead; five were alive, and were taken to the Infirmary, but of these, only three survived. They were horribly maimed, and so disfigured that they were scarcely recognizable. These twenty-eight poor little bodies were at first laid in rows in the churchyard to be claimed by their parents and friends, many of whom were to be seen running to and fro looking distracted with the great calamity that had befallen them. Of all the pitiable sights I ever beheld, the sight of these little things laid on the gra.s.s was the most piteous; and, as, one by one they were claimed and taken away--in some instances parents claiming two, and in one instance, three children--the utmost sympathy was felt for those who had been so suddenly bereft.

It was most fortunate that the accident did not occur half an hour--nay, a quarter of an hour--later, or the calamity might have been such as would have marked the day as one of the darkest in our annals--a frightful spot in our calendar. Beside the children, there were only about twenty people seated in the church, far from the scene of the disaster, and they, on the first indication of danger, had fled and sought safety outside the building. How the bell-ringers escaped, it is impossible to tell, but escape they did, and that unhurt, with the exception of one, who rushed back to get his clothes and was killed. It was to their intense stupidity and obstinacy that this catastrophe may be ascribed. Previous to the accident, they had been told that the tower was unsafe, and on that very morning, they were advised not to ring the bells again, until an examination of the building had taken place: but ring they would, and ring they did, and the result of their ringing was a death-knell unmatched in local history.

Nor were the authorities altogether free from blame. It was said that they were apprised of the insecurity of the tower, and yet did not take steps to avoid the accident. The escapes of people on their way to church were wonderful, and many traced their good fortune to being tardy in getting ready, or from leaving home at an usually late moment. The scene of the disaster was for a long time an attraction to people residing miles from Liverpool, and the country around sent thousands to gaze on the unusual sight presented to their view.

In the same year the sad calamity I have just recorded took place, the Theatre Royal was the scene of a frightful disturbance, which ended in the trial at Lancaster of several highly respectable men, for being partakers in it. I have a distinct recollection of this affair, and a more disgraceful one to all parties concerned in it, cannot be imagined.

These riots were termed the H. P. riots.

In the September of the preceding year there had been considerable agitation in the theatrical world of London, and dreadful riots had taken place as to the old prices, and the question was whether new and advanced prices should be charged for admission to the theatres. A number of individuals, as many as forty, were tried for the offence of rioting at Covent Garden, when, to the surprise of everyone, the whole of the party were found "Not guilty."

There is no doubt that this strange verdict in reference to most outrageous and unjustifiable conduct had put it into the heads of many people in Liverpool that similar conduct might be indulged in, with like impunity, respecting the Theatre Royal. There had been frequent attempts made to induce the lessees of the theatre, Messrs. Lewis and Knight, to permit a half-price to be taken. The plea for the request was that numbers of persons who would like occasionally to visit a theatre were debarred doing so from the fact that their hours of employment were so late that they could not get away in time to attend when the performances commenced, and they thought it a hard case that they should be obliged to pay full price for only half the quant.i.ty of amus.e.m.e.nt. The lessees pleaded their expenses were just the same, whether the people came at full price or half-price, and since the Theatre Royal had been established no such arrangement had been attempted, and as it would not pay them to concede a half price they declined to do so. They said their undertaking in the theatre was a private speculation for a public purpose, and they had no right to be compelled to do, what no other tradesmen would be expected to do, that is, prosecute their business at a loss. The play-goers, however, seemed determined to carry things with a high hand, and endeavour to force Messrs. Lewis and Knight to come to their terms. The season was announced to commence on the 11th of May, 1810, when there appeared, a few days previously, on the walls of the town the following placard:--

THE THEATRE OPENS ON MONDAY NEXT, 11TH MAY.

THE MANAGERS Have been requested to permit admission at

HALF-PRICE,

As in London, etc. (and elsewhere), but they still persist in the injustice of demanding FULL PRICES, from those who have it not in their power to attend until a very late hour, when a good and material part of the performance is over! We have even a greater right to the indulgence than the London audiences--

LET US BOLDLY CLAIM IT AND WE MUST SUCCEED!!

This placard was followed by others. An abusive letter also made its appearance, as well as a pamphlet equally offensive, in which the lessees were held up to scorn, ridicule, and opprobrium. In fact, every step was taken to excite the (play-going) public mind on the subject of "half-price or full-price."

When the opening night arrived, crowds of people a.s.sembled outside the theatre, and the rush to get in, when the doors opened, was immense.

Numbers of places had been previously taken in the boxes, by persons who were seen to be most actively engaged in the riots in the theatre afterwards. No sooner had the curtain rose to the play of "Pizarro" than the row began--shoutings, bawlings, whistlings, hornblowings, turnings of rattles, flappings of clappers, and every noise that could be made by the human voice was indulged in, and the uproar seemed to increase as the night went on--such a scene of confusion can hardly be conceived, and amidst the turbulence that reigned placards were exhibited demanding "half-price." In vain the managers attempted to obtain a hearing--in vain favourite actors came forward, hoping to be heard--the play proceeded, but all in "inexplicable dumb show and noise." These riots were repeated on the nights of the 14th and 16th, when it was found necessary to close the theatre. Each night the same riotous behaviour was exhibited. In fact, to such an extent had it arrived that the Mayor was at length sent for, and read the Riot Act. The mob outside threw brick-bats, stones, and all sorts of missiles at the windows, which they completely smashed, breaking away even the woodwork of the frames. The people outside kept bawling "Half-price!" and when any of the known adherents of the full price attempted to get out of the theatre they were driven back and insulted, while those in favour of "Half-price" were cheered and applauded most vociferously. At length, it was determined by the magistrates that the strong arm of the law should be stretched out, and in consequence, six persons who had been most active in the disturbances were arrested, and brought to trial at the autumn a.s.sizes at Lancaster, for conspiracy and riot. These delinquents were all gentlemen of position in the town, and, as may be supposed, the case excited the utmost attention and interest. The case was tried on the 14th September.

Sir Robert Graham was the judge. I remember Serjeant c.o.c.kle was for the prosecution, a.s.sisted by Messrs. Park, Topping, Holroyd, and Clark, nearly all of whom, by the way, I think, have since obtained seats on the judicial bench. The council for the defence were Messrs. Raine, Scarlett (afterwards Sir James Scarlett), Rainc.o.c.k, and Richardson. Sergeant c.o.c.kle, in opening the case highly lauded Messrs. Lewis and Banks as actors, men, and citizens, and pointed out to the jury how monstrous the conduct of the prisoners had been, in attempting to force an unprofitable movement upon anyone. I recollect he made use of this remarkable expression, "that every person resorting to a theatre has a right to express his dissatisfaction against any thing he sees, either of the plays performed or the actors, and that he must do this honestly: but if he conspire with others to d.a.m.n any play or condemn any actor, punishment should follow such conspiracy."

At the trial Mr. Statham, the Town Clerk, gave also evidence for the prosecution. After the court had been occupied some time, and many witnesses had been examined, an attempt was made on the part of the judge to effect a compromise, His Lordship remarking that he thought the ends of justice had been served in the public exposure and annoyance which the defendants had been put to, and that as the temper of the people had subsided, and even a better understanding existed between the public and the lessees than before, he thought it was of no use to carry the case any further. The council for the prosecution, however, would not consent to this; at the same time they a.s.sured the judge and the court, that the prosecution was not carried on by the lessees, but by the magistrates of the borough, who were determined to put a stop, by all means in their power, to a recurrence of such disgraceful proceedings, and attempts on the part of an unthinking public to force gentlemen to do what they did not consider right or equitable. The verdict returned was "guilty of riot, but not of conspiracy."

CHAPTER XV.

I have never been much of a play-goer, but have occasionally visited the theatres when remarkable performers have appeared. I recollect many of the leading actors and actresses of the close of the last century, while all the great ones of this I have seen from time to time. Joe Munden, Incledon, Braham, Fawcett, Michael Kelly, Mrs. Crouch, Mrs. Siddons, Madame Catalani Booth, and Cooke, and all the bright stars who have been enn.o.bled--Miss Farrell (Lady Derby), Miss Bolton (Lady Thurlow), Miss Stephens (Countess of Ess.e.x), Miss Love (Lady Harboro), Miss Foote (Marchioness Harrington), Miss Mellon (d.u.c.h.ess of St. Alban's), Miss O'Neil (Lady Beecher)--but I must say the old and the new style of acting, appear to be very different. Mrs. Siddons exhibited the highest perfection of acting. I cannot conceive anything that can go beyond it in dramatic art.

I was present when John Kemble bade farewell to the Liverpool audiences.

It took place in the summer of 1813. The play was "Coriola.n.u.s." The house was crowded to excess, and the utmost enthusiasm was exhibited in favour of the great tragedian; who, although not a townsman, was at any rate a county man, he having been born at Prescot.

Mr. Kemble, when addressing the audience on that occasion, made a very remarkable declaration. He said that "it was on the Liverpool stage he first adapted the play of 'Coriola.n.u.s,' and produced it, as they had just seen it performed, and that it was the earnest encouragement he then received that proved a great stimulus to him in after life."

A statement of the sums of money received at benefits amongst the "old stagers" may perhaps interest some of my readers. I am going back a long way, but I do so that those who know or who guess at the receipts of the "moderns" may compare them with those of the "ancients." In 1795 Mrs.

Maddocks, a most delightful actress, and an immense favourite in Liverpool, drew 213 pounds; Mrs. Powell, 207 pounds; Mr Banks, 183 pounds; Mr. Whitfield, 135 pounds. Mr. Kelly, the Irish singer, and Mrs.

Crouch, a most charming and fascinating woman, with a lovely voice, realised together 136 pounds; Mr. Hollinsworth, 124 pounds; and Mr. Ward 119 pounds. In modern days the Clarkes (the manager and his wife) have received as much as 300 pounds at their benefits. One of the best speculations Mr. Lewis ever made was the engagement of Paganini, shortly after his first appearance in the metropolis, in, I think, 1829 or 1830.

This wonderful genius had taken the musical world of London by storm, and struck terror and despair into the hearts of the violinists of his day; one and all of whom declaring, as a friend of mine said of his own playing--although eminent in his profession--"that they were only fiddlers." Paganini's playing was most unearthly and inhuman. I never heard anything like the tones he produced from his violin--the sounds now crashing as if a demoniac was tearing and straining at the strings, now melting away with the softest and tenderest harmonies. He kept his hearers enthralled by his magical music, and astonished by his wonderful execution. I shall never forget hearing him play the "Walpurgis Nacht,"

when he appeared at the Amphitheatre in 1835 or 1836. It was painting a picture by means of sounds. His descriptive powers were wonderful.

Anybody with the least touch of imagination could bring before "his mind's eye" the infernal revel that the artist was depicting. The enchantments of the witches were visible. You could hear their diabolical songs, you could fancy their mad and wild dances; while, when the c.o.c.k crew (imitated by the way in a most astonishing manner), you would feel that there was a rushing of bodies through the air, which were scattering in all directions. Then the lovely melody succeeding--descriptive of the calm dawn of summer morning--came soothingly on the senses after the strain of excitement that the mind had experienced. In that delicious melody you could fancy you saw the rosy colours of the breaking day and gradually the rising of the sun, giving light and beauty to the world. That performance was the most wonderful I ever listened to, and I feel confident no one but those who did hear this strange man can ever entertain any notion of his style or performance.

His first engagement in Liverpool was at the Theatre Royal, and a characteristic anecdote is related of the Signor in this transaction. At the Amphitheatre, Signor De Begnis, the great harp player--the husband of the fascinating Ronzi de Begnis, and who ran away with Lady Bishop, (he was the ugliest man for a Cavaliero I ever saw, being deeply pitted with the smallpox)--had been giving some concerts which were exceedingly unsuccessful. The people engaged got no money, De. Begnis having completely failed in the speculation. The news of this having reached London, Paganini heard of it, and when Mr. Lewis proposed to engage him, he jumped at the conclusion that this was the same as De Begnis's speculation and that there could be only one theatre in Liverpool. He accordingly declined to come to Liverpool, unless the money to be paid to him was first lodged at his bankers (Messrs. Coutts) in London. Mr.

Lewis saw through the Signor's error at once, and immediately remitted 1000 pounds to ratify the engagement for ten nights. Paganini played his ten nights and drew on each of them from 280 pounds to 300 pounds, so that, great as the risk was, the speculation was a most advantageous one to the lessee. When Paganini came to the Amphitheatre in 1835 or '36 (I think) with Watson as his manager, and Miss Watson as his _Cantatrice_, he did not draw as on his first appearance, although the houses were very good. I recollect talking to Mr. Watson on the stage between the parts, when the G.o.ds, growing impatient, whistled loudly for a re-commencement of the performance. Paganini, who happened to be near us, seemed rather surprised at the noise, and turning to Watson he inquired _qu'est que c'est ces tapageurs ces siffleurs_? and on being told, he grinned horribly, and said in a low voice--_Bah_! _betes_!

I once was told, by one of the actors employed at the Theatre Royal, a curious anecdote of a remarkable and distinguished lady. I don't recollect the year it happened, but I think it must have been about 1829.

In that year a carriage drove up to the Theatre Royal, containing two ladies, attended by a man-servant in green and gold livery. The servant went into the theatre to inquire if Mr. Clarke, the stage-manager, was in. On being answered in the affirmative, the stoutest of the two ladies--for the other lady was quite young--stepped out of the carriage, and without ceremony walked through the lobby straight upon the stage, to the utter surprise of the hall-keeper who, like a masonic tyler, allows no one to pa.s.s without a word or sign of recognition that they are of the privileged. The man followed the lady, who, stepping to the footlights, gazed around on that most desolate of all desolate, dreary, dingy places, the inside of a theatre by daylight. On her still handsome countenance alternated emotions of pride, regretful feeling, as well as of deep interest. After looking across the pit for a few moments, she turned to the hall-porter and requested him to announce to Mr. Clarke that a lady wished to see him for a few minutes. The man quickly returned, requesting the lady to follow him, but she, pa.s.sing him, made her way to the treasury with the air and mien of one who well knew the way to that place of torture when a "ghost does not walk." The lady accosted Mr.

Clarke with a winning air, and seeing that she was not recognised, said, "So you don't recollect me?" "No, indeed, I do not." "Well, that is strange, considering the money you have paid me. Why," she continued, "do you not recollect who played _Little Pickle_ at Swansea and Bristol in 18--?" "Bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Clarke. "Ah! I see you know me now," said the lady laughing. "And many a week's salary I have had there," continued the buxom visitor, pointing to the pay-place, "and now just let me have something paid to me to remind me of old times."

Whereupon she went to the pay-place, when the gallant stage-manager put down a week's salary as of old, which the lady took up, returning it however, and placing at the same time in Mr. Clarke's hand, a note for 20 pounds, which she desired him to distribute amongst the most needy of the company. The lady was the d.u.c.h.ess of St. Alban's. When Miss Mellon, she had been engaged at the Theatre Royal, and the first benefit she had was in Liverpool. I knew a gentleman who exerted himself greatly on her behalf on that occasion, and the success of it was mainly attributable to his efforts. This she always gratefully acknowledged, and I recollect his telling me that once, being in London, this admirable and kind-hearted lady--who so worthily used the wealth at her command, after she was enn.o.bled--recognised him while pa.s.sing down Pall Mall and beckoned him to the side of her magnificent equipage, and there recalled the old time to his recollection acknowledging the old obligation, a.s.suring him that if she could in any way serve him she would be delighted to do so.

The Theatre Royal, about forty odd years ago was under the lesseeship of Messrs. Lewis and Banks. Mr. Banks was extremely fond of a good and well-dressed dish; he had a person as cook who had been with him some years, and who suited his taste in his most choice dishes. The two had a serious quarrel, which ended in cooky giving her master notice of leaving his service. Mr. Banks took this somewhat to heart as he thought if he parted with his cook--and such a cook as she was--he might not be able to replace her. To put it out of her power to give him notice again, he offered her marriage, and was accepted. Mrs. Banks sometimes used to visit the theatre, and generally took her seat at the wing by the prompter's table, where she could see tolerably well what was going forward on the stage. On one occasion the tragedy of "Venice Preserved"

was being performed. Edmund Kean was _Jaffier_ and Miss O'Neil _Belvidera_. They were playing to a greatly excited house, as may well be supposed when two such artists were upon the stage. Mr. St. A---, who was then ballet-master at the theatre, and who, by the way, was a most graceful dancer, seeing Mrs. Banks, went up to her to exchange compliments. Having done so, Mr. St. A--- remarked how seldom they had the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Banks. "Oh," replied she, "I never come to the theatre--not I. There's no good actors now-a-days--there ain't anybody worth seeing." "Dear me, Mrs, B., how can you say so? Who have we on the stage now? There's Mr. Kean"--"Mr. Kean, indeed," exclaimed Mrs. B., "I can't abide him; he's my abortion." "Well, then, what do you think of Miss O'Neil?" "Miss O'Neil!--Miss O'Neil, indeed; do you call her a hactress?--I can't abide her. There she is--see how she lolls and lollups on the fellows--it's quite disgusting!" Now the fact was that Miss O'Neil who was chast.i.ty itself off the stage, and who lead a most blameless life, showed, when performing, such _abandon_ and _impressment_ in her actions as to be quite remarkable, especially in parts where the intensity of pa.s.sion had to be displayed, and this Mrs. Banks "couldn't abide." "Well, then," continued Mr. St. A---, "who do you call a good actor?" "Who do I call a good actor! you wait till my dear John Emery comes down, and then you'll see a good actor; and if I live as long, I'll make him such a pudding, please G.o.d, as he hasn't had this many a day!"

Old Mrs. Banks was about right as to John Emery; he was an actor of the first-cla.s.s, and has never been replaced in his peculiar line. I have seen Emery play _Tyke_ in the "School of Reform." It was a wonderful impersonation. I have seen nothing like it since.

It has always appeared to me to be a remarkable circ.u.mstance that many actors and actresses who have been great favourites in the metropolis, have not stood in the same light with the Liverpool audiences. I have seen, occasionally, some remarkable instances of this. Dowton, a great actor, never drew; James Wallack never attracted large audiences. I have seen the whole Adelphi company--including Frederick Yates, his charming wife, Paul Bedford, John Reeve, O. Smith, and others--fail to draw; in fact at one engagement they played night after night to almost empty benches. This was, I think, in 1838. I recollect, on one occasion, Yates seeing a band-box on the stage, went up to it and gave it a kick, and looking significantly at the state of the house, exclaimed, "Get out of my sight--I hate empty boxes!"

Vandenhoff was always a great favourite with the Liverpool audiences.

There was a tremendous row once got up at the Theatre Royal, in which he was concerned. About 1825, I think, Vandenhoff went to try his fortune on the London stage, and there, if he did not altogether fail, he did not succeed commensurate with his great expectations; and after knocking about at several theatres, playing, I believe, at some of the minors--the Surrey, Coburg, and Sadler's Wells--he came back to Liverpool, where a Mr. Salter had taken up the position he had vacated. A strong move by Mr. Vandenhoff's friends was made to reinstate him on the Liverpool Tragic Throne. This Mr. Salter's friends would not allow. The consequence was that several noisy demonstrations took place on both sides, and considerable confusion was created during the time the row was kept up. To show to what length things went, I may just mention that placards were freely exhibited in the theatre bearing the sentiments on them of the particular side which exhibited them. I recollect one caused great fun and laughter. It was headed "Vandenhoff" and "Salter-off."

Kean thought highly of Vandenhoff. I have seen a letter of his in which he highly extols him, considering his style to be the purest acting since the retirement of John Kemble.

In the autumn of 1824, there was a great row at the Theatre Royal, which was excited in favour of Miss Cramer, a most popular and able vocalist.

At that time the Music Hall in Bold-street had just been opened, and concerts were being given under the management of Mr. Wilson, the dancing master, whose niece by the way (Miss Bolton) was married to John Braham, _il primo tenore d'Europa_, as the Italians termed him. Braham has often said that this Music Hall was a finer room for sound than any that ever he was in; and at these morning concerts he frequently sang. It was the custom to enlist the aid of the vocalists, if there were any, at the Theatre Royal, to add to the attractions of these concerts. The manager was always willing to allow his singers to avail themselves of the occasion. However, on Miss Cramer being offered an engagement, the manager refused to allow her to appear. Miss Cramer, feeling the injustice of the case, nevertheless sang at one of the morning concerts, and was consequently dismissed from the Theatre Royal. The young lady instantly issued a handbill stating her case, and the consequence was that the theatre was crowded at night, and calls for "Miss Cramer" were incessant. Mr. Banks came forward to justify himself, hoping that both sides might be heard, but he could not obtain a hearing. At length the audience grew so excited that they tore up the seats, smashed a splendid chandelier that had only just been purchased at a cost of 500 pounds, broke all the windows in the house, and did a great deal of damage. The row was continued on the night but one following, when other damage was effected, and it was only by closing the theatre for a few days that peace could be restored. Some of the rioters were afterwards tried at Lancaster, and, I think, heavily fined.

CHAPTER XVI.

In the year 1816, in consequence of the high price of provisions, as mentioned in a former chapter, many persons rendered desperate by their wants, formed themselves into gangs of robbers, and committed many daring acts of depredation. Travellers were constantly stopped, ill-treated, and robbed on the roads in the vicinity of the town; and scarcely a day pa.s.sed, without intelligence arriving of some house in the outskirts being attacked and plundered. To such an extent was this carried, that people commenced forming themselves into a.s.sociations for their mutual protection. In Toxteth Park, this was especially the case, as several very serious robberies had been reported in that neighbourhood. It must be remembered that at that time Toxteth Park was but thinly populated.

There were only a few good houses in it, occupied by highly respectable families, for the salubrious air of "the Park," and the beautiful views of the river from many parts of it, gave it attractions to those who could live out of town. It was, amongst other things, proposed, I recollect, to have as protection, large and sonorous bells put up on the tops of the houses, so that on the least alarm of thieves, the bells might be rung to arouse the neighbours. Such precautions will be laughed at now-a-days, but something was necessary to be done at that time, when policemen were unknown, and personal protection was by no means much regarded. It was no uncommon circ.u.mstance for persons who had occasion to go out at night, to carry a brace of pistols with them; but whether they would have had courage to use them or not, I cannot say, but the fact of having such things at hand were crumbs of comfort to timid people.

I dare say many of my readers will remember having seen in old carriages and gigs, a sort of round projection at the back, forming a recess from the inside of the vehicle. These boxes were used for the purpose of depositing therein a sword and pistols, so that they might be ready at hand in case of necessity.

The extent to which robbery was committed in Liverpool at this period, may be judged by the following circ.u.mstance, which many may still remember. On the particulars being made public people were completely terrified at the state to which things had arrived, and several families living in the suburbs, seriously thought of returning to reside in the town again.

About the month of August, 1816, an old woman was seen prowling constantly about the vicinity of Mr. J. A. Yates' house, in Toxteth Park.

She made a great many inquiries about the members of that gentleman's family, whether there were men servants in the house, and whether a dog was kept. In fact, she made herself fully acquainted with Mr. Yates'

domestic arrangements. This was thought nothing of at the time, but the old crone's curiosity was recalled to mind after the event took place, which I shall briefly mention.

On the night of Friday, 16th August, 1816, about ten o'clock, six men wearing masks, and armed with pistols, might have been seen approaching Mr. Yates' house. Two of them took their position outside as sentinels to give alarm to their companions, if necessary. The other four approached the back of the premises, and entered the house. Pa.s.sing through the scullery they went into the kitchen, where they found a servant-maid and a footman. Threatening them with instant death if they gave any alarm, one of the four remained in the kitchen to watch the girl, while the other three compelled the footman to show them over the house. Proceeding up stairs, they encountered Mr. J. B. Yates, who was on a visit to Mr. J. A. Yates. On seeing the men approach, he inquired their business, when one of them aimed a blow at him, which, however, fortunately missed its mark, and only inflicted a slight wound on Mr.

Yates's mouth. They then ordered Mr. Yates to give up his money, which he did, fearing further violence. Driving him before them, they next entered a room, in which Mrs. J. B. Yates was sitting. They compelled her also to give up her money, watch, and the jewellery she wore. While this was going on, Mr. J. A. Yates arrived from Liverpool, and was seized by the two rascals stationed outside. They demanded his money, putting pistols to his head. Mr. Yates, however, with a good deal of nerve, rushed past the fellows, threw his watch away, and seized hold of the handle of the door bell, which he rung with considerable force. The men, however, again seized him, and told him his ringing would be of no use, as there were fellows inside who could overmaster any effort of his. But the ringing of the door-bell had seriously alarmed the party within, who were then robbing Mrs. Yates, as just mentioned. s.n.a.t.c.hing up whatever they could, which was portable and seemed of value, the fellows rushed down stairs, ordering the footman to open the hall-door. This he did, and availed himself of the opportunity of making his escape. He ran across the fields and speedily gave an alarm, but too late to be of any service; for, when a.s.sistance arrived, the thieves had decamped, taking with them about 14 pounds in money, and a quant.i.ty of valuable plate and jewellery. The man left in the kitchen had contrived to secure the stock of plate. Four of the robbers were captured in September following, and committed to take their trial at Lancaster, where they were found guilty and sentenced to death. They were hung in October following, and it is a rather curious circ.u.mstance that the very week these men suffered the extreme penalty of the law for their misdeeds, a daring burglary was committed one night at the mill near Mr. Yates' house, when five sacks of flour were stolen, put into a boat in waiting by the mill dam, and successfully carried off.

The Waterloo Hotel was originally Mr. Gore's house. It was afterwards occupied by Mr. Staniforth, who was in partnership with the present Mr.

Laird's father as ropers. The roperies occupied the site of the present Arcades, and extended to Berry-street.