"That afternoon," he relates, "was the first time I had the honour and pleasure of speaking to your father. A few of us at Deptford, where I then resided, had had printed a quantity of handbills announcing the debate with the Rev. W. Barker, then appearing in the National Reformer. I gave your father one, for which he thanked me. I should like, with your permission, to add a few words as to what took place on that exciting afternoon. The Irish Catholics had been well whipped up for the occasion, and were there in force; most of them dock and bricklayers' labourers, and in the mass totally uneducated. There were three mounds of earth and stones intended to repair or make roads, each about four feet high, and, so far as I can recollect after thirty years have gone by, about thirty yards long by eight deep. These were about fifty yards apart, and on the middle one were gathered the men and two women—one of the latter in a red 'jumper,' that was afterwards known in fashion as a 'Garibaldi.' The Irish were massed on and around the two other mounds, and during the early part of the proceedings contented themselves with singing a refrain for 'God and Rome.' It was about ten minutes after your father had begun to speak that a signal was given, on which a sudden rush was made upon the meeting. There had not been up to this moment any indication whatever that the Irish were armed, but every man and woman (and there were many women and girls with them) was possessed of a bludgeon of some sort. Their onslaught was furious and brutal, and for a time successful. They carried the mound in a few minutes, but the blood upon many of our friends aroused such a feeling of indignation, that in a time less than it takes me to write it the mound was stormed from the Piccadilly side, and again captured by us. There were in the crowd about a dozen Grenadier Guardsmen, who were ardent admirers of Garibaldi, and there were quite fifty others, possibly passive spectators. The former formed two deep, and with their walking-sticks rushed down the mound into the mass of the yelling Irish. The effect was electrical. Their comrades in the crowd raised a sudden shout, and in ten minutes the Irish were in full retreat, throwing away their sticks to escape the indignation of the people they had so wantonly and brutally attacked. Many were captured by the police, and I clearly remember the constables gathering up their bludgeons, and making bundles of them with their belts. It must be confessed that no quarter was given, and scores of them got severely mauled. Cardinal Wiseman referred to the brutality of the infidel mob in a pastoral a few days after, in which he used the term 'lambs' to describe these religious ruffians. Punch, the next week, 'caught on' to this word, and in its weekly cartoon depicted this mob of Irish assailing a public meeting over the heading of 'Cardinal Wiseman's Lambs.'"
[84] He gave two lectures in the Mechanics' Institute (lent to the Freethinker for this occasion), and the proceeds, £8 11s. 4d., were handed over to the fund. "No lecturer gave more to the needy than Iconoclast," said Mr Austin Holyoake.
[85] One of the latest letters he ever wrote, bearing date Jan. 12, 1891, shows him always the same. He says: "I am extremely sorry to read your letter, but I have, unfortunately, no means whatever except what I earn from day to day with my tongue and pen. If the Committee think it wise, I will lecture for the benefit of such a fund."
[86] The number of persons present was variously estimated at from 30,000 to "upwards of 60,000."
[87] Mr Bradlaugh commented somewhat epigrammatically: "The Right Hon. Benjamin Disraeli is perhaps the man best fitted to be in opposition, and the least fitted to govern amongst our prominent men. His waistcoats have been brilliant, but his Parliamentary measures cannot always successfully compare with the result of his tailor's skill."
[88] The Bristol Daily Post.
[89] Bedford Mercury of November 24th.
[90] The Morning Star (London) of November 22nd also notes the enthusiasm provoked by Mr Bradlaugh's "animated speech."
[91] Essay in Cornhill Magazine, 1868, reprinted in book form as "Culture and Anarchy."
[92] In a general "damnatory" description of the demonstration given from "a club window," which appeared in the Times of February 12th, there is a caricature of Mr Bradlaugh, spiteful in intent, but amusing and really interesting if one looks between the would-be scornful words. We are told that "a dapper youth, mounted on a brown horse, exerted himself to make up for the shortcomings of the public force, and was a host in himself. He was evidently a man in authority, and acted in close connection with the Reform magnates, whose carriages stopped the way before our doors. He raised his whip as freely as if it had been a constable's truncheon or gendarme's broad-sword, and apostrophised, or—why should I not say the word—bullied the crowd in a tone and with manners which would have done an alguazil's heart good. The sovereign people put up with the man's arrogance with incredible meekness and patience, and allowed itself to be marshalled hither and thither as if the Queen's highway were the Leaguers' special property and the public were mere intruders."