It was now that the mischief was done, and many a sound head was cracked, and many a courageous heart was smarting 'neath their wounds in the gloomy dungeons of the castle, or waiting in their rooms the probing instrument and plasters of Messrs. Wall, or Kidd, or Bourne, that a few of us, who had escaped tolerably well, and were seated round a bowl of bishop in the snug sanctum sanctorum of the Mitre, began to inquire of each other the origin of the fray. After a variety of conjectures and vague reports, each at variance with the other, and evidently deficient in the most remote connexion with the true cause of the strife, it was agreed to submit the question to the waiter, as a neutral observer, who assured us that the whole affair arose out of a trifling circumstance, originating with some mischievous boys, who, having watched two gownsmen into a cyprian temple in the neighbourhood of Saint Thomas, circulated a false report that they had carried thither the wives of two respectable mechanics. Without taking the trouble to inquire into the truth or falsehood of the accusation, the door was immediately beset; the old cry of Town and Gown vociferated in every direction; and the unfortunate wights compelled to seek their safety by an ignominious flight through a back door and over the meadows. The tumult once raised, it was not to be appeased without some victim, and for this purpose they thought proper to attack a party of the togati, who were returning home from a little private sport with a well-known fancy lecturer: the opportunity was a good one to show-off, a regular fight commenced, and the raff were floored in every direction, until their numbers increasing beyond all
7 The highly respected and learned head-master of Eton
College.
comparison, the university men were compelled to raise the cry of Gown, and fly for succour and defence to the High-street: in this way had a few mischievous boys contrived to embroil the town and university in one of the most severe intestine struggles ever remembered.
A true chronicle of ye bloodie fighte betweene the Clerkes
of and Scholairs of Oxenforde, and the Townsmen of the
Citie, who were crowdinge rounde the Easterne Gaite to see
the Kinge enter in his progresse wostwarde.
Sir Gierke of Oxenforde, prepare Your robis riche, and noble cheere. Ye kinge with alle his courtlie trane Is spurring on your plaice to gane. And heere ye trumpet's merrie note, His neare approache proclaims, I wote; Ye doctors, proctors, scholairs, go, And fore youre sovereigne bend ye lowe. Now comes the kinge in grande arraie; And the scholairs presse alonge the waye, Till ye Easterne gaite was thronged so rounde, That passage coulde no where be founde. Then the sheriffe's men their upraised speares Did plye about the people's eares. And woe the day; the rabble route Their speares did breake like glasse aboute. Then the doctors, proctors, for the kinge, Most lustilie for roome did singe; But thoughe theye bawled out amaine, No passage throughe the crowde coulde gane. Ye Northern gownsmen, a bold race, Now swore they'd quicklie free the plaice; With stalwart gripe, and beadle's staffe Theye clefte the townsmen's sculls in half.
And now the wrathful rabble rave, And quick returne withe club and stave; And heades righte learn'd in classic lore Felt as they'd never felt before. Now fierce and bloody growes the fraye: In vaine the mayore and sheriffe praye For peace—to cool the townsmens' ire, Intreatie but impelles the fire. Downe with the Towne! the scholairs cry; Downe with the Gowne! the towne reply. Loud rattle the caps of the clerkes in aire, And the citizens many a sortie beare; And many a churchman fought his waye, Like a heroe in the bloodie fraye. And one right portlie father slewe Of rabble townsmen not a fewe. And now 'mid the battle's strife and din There came to the Easterne gate, The heralde of our lorde the kinge, With his merrie men all in state. "God help us!" quoth the courtlie childe, "What means this noise within? With joye the people have run wilde." And so he peeped him in, And throughe the wicker-gate he spied, And marvelled much thereat, The streets withe crimson current dyed, And Towne and Gowne laide flat. Then he called his merrie men aloud, To bringe him a ladder straighte; The trumpet sounds—the warlike crowde In a moment forget theire hate. Up rise the wounded, down theire arms Both Towne and Gowne do lie; The kinge's approache ye people charmes, And alle looke merrilie. For howe'er Towne and Gowne may fighte, Yet bothe are true to ye kinge. So on bothe may learning and honour lighte, Let all men gailie singe.{1}
1 The above imitation of the style of the ancient ballad is
founded on traditional circumstances said to have occurred
when the pacific king James visited Oxford.—Bernard
Blackmantle.
Intestine broils and civil wars of Oxford.—Anthony Wood,
the faithful historian of Oxford, gives an account of a
quarrel between the partisans of St. Guinbald and the
residents of Oxford, in the days of Alfred, on his
refounding the university, A.D. 886. After his death the
continual inroads of the Danes kept the Oxonians in
perpetual alarm, and in the year 979 they destroyed the town
by fire, and repeated their outrage upon the new built town
in 1002. Seven years after, Swein, the Danish leader, was
repulsed by the inhabitants in a similar attempt, who took
vengeance on their im-placable enemy by a general massacre
on the feast of St. Brice. In the civil commotions under the
Saxon prince, Oxford had again its full share of the evils
of war. After the death of Harold, William the Conqueror was
bravely opposed by the citizens in his attempt to enter
Oxford, which effecting by force, he was so much exas-
perated at their attachment to Harold, that he bestowed the
government of the town on Robert de Oilgo, a Norman, with
permission to build a castle to keep his Oxford subjects in
awe. The disturbances during the reign of Stephen and his
successor were frequent, and in the reign of John, A. D.
1209, an unfortunate occurrence threatened the entire
destruction of Oxford as a seat of learning. A student,
engaged in thoughtless diversion, killed a woman, and fled
from justice. A band of citizens, with the mayor at their
head, surrounded the hall to which he belonged, and demanded
the offender; on being informed of his absence, the lawless
multitude seized three of the students, who were entirely
unconnected with the transaction, and ob-tained an order
from the weak king (whose dislike to the clergy is known),
to put the innocent persons to death—an order which was but
too promptly obeyed. The scholars, justly en-raged by this
treatment, quitted Oxford, some to Cambridge and Reading,
and others to Maidstone, in Kent. The offended students also
applied to the Pope, who laid the city under an interdict
and discharged all professors from teaching in it. This step
completely humbled the citizens, who sent a deputation of
the most respectable to wait on the Pope's legate (then at
Westminster) to acknowledge their rashness and request
mercy; the legate (Nicholas, Bishop of Tusculum, ) granted
their petition only on the most humiliating terms. The mayor
and corporation were en-joined, by way of penance, to
proceed annually, on the day dedicated to St. Nicholas, to
all the parish churches bare-headed, with hempen halters
round their necks, and whips in their hands, on their bare
feet, and in their' shirts, and there pray the benefit of
absolution from the priests, repeating the penitential
psalms, and to pay a mark of silver per annum to the
students of the hall peculiarly injured; in addition to
which they were, on the recurrence of the same day, to
entertain one hundred poor scholars "honestis
refectionibus," the abbot of Evesham yearly paying sixteen
shillings towards the festival expense A part of this
ceremony, but without the degrading marks of it, is
continued to this day. Henry III. occasionally resided at
Oxford, and held there many parliaments and councils: in the
reign of this king the university flourished to an
unexampled degree, the number of students being estimated at
fifteen thousand. Its popularity was about this time also
greatly increased from the circumstance of not less than one
thousand students quitting the learned institutions of
Paris, and repairing to Oxford for instruction; but these
foreigners introduced so dangerous a levity of manners, that
the Pope deemed it necessary to send his legate for the
purpose of reforming " certain flagrant corruptions of the
place." The legate was at first treated with much affected
civility, but an occasion for quarrel being soon found, he
would, in all probability, have been sacrificed upon the
spot, had he not hidden himself in a belfry from the fury of
the assailants. This tumult was, by the exercise of some
strong measures, speedily appeased; but the number of
students was at this period infinitely too great to preserve
due subordination. They divided themselves into parties,
among which the north and south countrymen were the most
violent, and their quarrels harassing and perpetual.
According to the rude temper of the age, these disputes were
not settled by argument, but by dint of blows; and the peace
of the city was in this way so often endangered, that the
king thought it expedient to add to the civil power two
aldermen and eight burgesses assistant, together with two
bailiffs. From petty and intestine broils, the students
appear to have acquired a disposition for political inter-
ference. When Prince Edward, returning from Paris, marched
with an army towards Wales, coming to Oxford he was by the
burghers refused admittance, "on occasion of the tumults now
prevailing among the barons:" he quartered his soldiers in
the adjacent villages, and "lodged himself that night in the
royal palace of Magdalen," the next morning proceeding on
his intended journey; but the scholars, who were shut in the
town, being desirous to salute a prince whom they loved so
much, first assembled round Smith-gate, and demanded to be
let into the fields, which being refused by one of the
bailiffs, they returned to their hostels for arms and broke
open the gate, whereupon the mayor arrested many of them,
and, on the chancellor's request, was so far from releasing
them that he ordered the citizens to bring out their banners
and display them in the midst of the street; and then
embattling them, commanded a sudden onset on the rest of the
scholars remaining in the town; and much blood-shed had been
committed had not a scholar, by the sound of the school-bell
in Saint Mary's church, given notice of the danger that
threatened the students, then at dinner. On this alarm they
straightways armed and went out, and in a tremendous
conflict subdued and put the townsmen to flight. In
consequence of this tumult, the king required the scholars
to retire from the city during the time of holding his
parliament; the chief part of the students accordingly
repaired to Northampton, where, shortly after the insurgent
barons had fortified themselves, on the king's laying siege
to the place, the scholars, offended by their late removal,
joined with the nobility, and repaired to arms under their
own standard, behaving in the fight with conspicuous
gallantry, and greatly increasing the wrath of the king;
who, however, on the place being subdued, was restrained
from pur-suing them to extremities, from prudential motives.
As the kingdom became more settled, the disturbances were
less frequent, and within the last century assumed the
character of sportive rows rather than malicious feuds. On a
recent lamentable occasion (now happily forgotten) the
political feelings of the Gown and Town in some measure
revived the spirit of the "olden time;" but since then Peace
has waved her olive-branch over the city of Oxford, and
perfect harmony, let us hope, will exist between Town and
Gown for evermore.
The veil of night was more than half drawn, ere the youthful inmates of the Mitre retired to rest; and many of the party were compelled to put up with sorry accommodation, such was the influx of gownsmen who, shut out of lodging and college, had sought this refuge to wait the approaching morn;—a morn big with the fate of many a scholastic woe—of lectures and reprovals from tutors, and fines and impositions and denunciations from principals, of proctorial reports to the vice-chancellor, and examinations before the big wigs, and sentences of expulsion and rustication: coming evils which, by anticipation, kept many a man awake upon his pillow, spite of the perilous fatigue which weighed so heavy upon the exhausted frame. The freshman had little to fear: he could plead his ignorance of college rules, or escape notice altogether, from not having yet domiciled within the walls of a college. Although I had little to expect from the apprehension of any of these troubles, as my person was, from my short residence, most likely unknown to any of the authorities—yet did Morpheus refuse his soporific balsam to the mind—I could not help thinking of my young and giddy companions, of the kind-hearted Eglantine, immured within the walls of a dungeon; of the noble-spirited Echo, maltreated and disfigured by the temporary loss of an eye; of the facetious Bob Transit, so bruised and exhausted, that a long illness might be expected; and, lastly, of our Eton sextile, the incomparable exquisite Lionise, who, if discovered in his dangerous frolic, would, perhaps, have to leap out of a first floor window at the risk of his neck, sustain an action for damages, and his expulsion from college at the same time. Little Dick Gradus, with his usual cunning, had shirked us at the commencement of hostilities; and the Honourable Mr. Sparkle had been carried home to his lodging, early in the fray, more overcome by hard drinking than hard fighting, and there safely put to bed by the indefatigable Mark Supple, to whose friendly zeal and more effective arm we were all much indebted. In this reflective mood, I had watched the retiring shadows of the night gradually disperse before the gray-eyed morn, and had just caught a glimpse of the golden streaks which illumine the face of day, when my o'er-wearied spirit sank to rest.