Mr. Smith pressed on Mr. Wainwright the use of his cloak; but this Mr. Wainwright declined. Smith then led the way across the fields, by a stile path, till they arrived at length at a small thicket, through which they proceeded, when Smith stopped short, and said he knew a nearer way. Smith then led Mr. Wainwright into a meadow, and standing before him drew out a pistol. Mr. Wainwright immediately concluded that his fellow-passenger intended to put an end to his own life, and, after a sharp struggle, got the pistol from him, remonstrating with him upon the wickedness of the act. Smith, however, drew another pistol, and fired it at Mr. Wainwright, fortunately without effect. The latter instantly sprang upon Mr. Smith and got him down, uttering loud cries for assistance. Smith begged hard for mercy, and on promising not to repeat his murderous attack, was allowed to get up. He was no sooner released and on his legs than he drew a third pistol, fired, and hit Mr. Wainwright in the body. The men again closed, when Smith drew a knife and made several attempts upon his companion’s life by attempting to cut his throat, which was fortunately well protected by the thick rolls of cambric it was then the custom to tie round the neck, as well as by a thick scarf, which was cut through in several places. Mr. Wainwright, however, never
left hold of Smith until they reached his house when, the door suddenly opening, he rushed in and quickly closed it. He then came to the window and ordered Mr. Wainwright away, refusing him shelter, although it was growing dark and raining heavily. Mr. Wainwright contrived to crawl to a cottage, where he was laid up for some time, but eventually recovered from the cuts and wounds inflicted upon him. Smith absconded, and a reward of £50 was offered for his capture. This was effected after some time in Pall Mall, London, by two Bow-street runners. Smith was committed for trial at Stafford assizes, where he was found guilty and sentenced to be hung. He, however, escaped that punishment by destroying both himself and his wife in his cell in Stafford gaol, while awaiting his sentence. What Smith’s motive could be for his conduct no one could conjecture. He would give no explanation on the subject though pressed to do so. It was supposed that a sudden fit of insanity had seized him, and that his violence was the result of it. During the journey the two gentlemen were on the most friendly terms, taking their meals together and acting as travellers thrown together usually do. Mr. Wainwright’s presence was most essential to Smith to allay the hostility of his creditors, and therefore, the attempts to make away with him were still more incomprehensible.
As I sit by my fire-side with two or three old friends—friends, indeed, for I have known them all for fifty, sixty, and seventy years—we talk over old times, faces, scenes and places, in a way that calls up the ghosts of the past to our dim eyes. If my readers could listen to our stories of the old town they would hear more about it in a night than my little amanuensis could write down in a day. Many curious anecdotes and circumstances are called to remembrance by us, and I must say we talk of old times with a regretful yet pleasant feeling. I know I often startle some of my young friends by telling them of scenes I have witnessed in the last century, and I have often noticed them in their minds putting one year and another together, or subtracting one from another so that they might ascertain whether I was telling the truth or not.
I don’t believe there is another man in Liverpool alive at this time who saw the Town Hall on fire in 1795. I saw it, I may say, almost break out, for I was in Castle-street in ten minutes after the alarm had spread through the town, and that was soon done, for Liverpool was not of the extent it is now. I believe half the inhabitants turned out into the streets to witness that awful sight, although it was at five o’clock on a frosty Sunday morning in January. For my part, I was aroused by the continuous springing of rattles by the
watchmen, and the rushing sounds of people running along the street. I was soon out of bed and joined the throng of people who were hurrying to the scene of disaster. When I arrived there, a crowd had already assembled. Castle-street was then very narrow. It was quite choked up with people. Dale-street was beginning to be crowded while High-street and Water-street were quite impassable. From the windows of all the houses the terrified inmates were to be observed en dishabille, and the large inn in Water-street, the Talbot, which was nearly opposite the Town Hall, had people looking out at every window.
The smoke first made its appearance at the lower windows of the Town Hall. The doors having been forced, a party of men got into the interior of the building, and brought out for safety the books of the various departments, and some of the town’s officers having arrived, something like system took the place of the dreadful confusion which prevailed. The town records, the treasurer’s accounts, and the muniments, etc., were safely removed to a house at the end of High-street. I helped to keep order. Assisted by many other volunteers for the work we formed a lane so that there should be no impediment to a quick removal of anything that was portable. The fire was first discovered about five o’clock in the morning by the watchman on duty in the street.
They were dull old fellows, those watchmen, and of but little use, for in calling the hour nine times out of ten they made a mistake. The thieves laughed them to scorn. When the watchman saw smoke issuing from the windows he gave the alarm without delay. The fire soon showed itself, when it had once got ahead. When the new Exchange was erected, after the former one had been taken down in 1748, somebody persuaded the authorities to have the woodwork and timber of the new building steeped in a composition of rosin and turpentine, so as to make the wood more durable. It may therefore be readily imagined how inflammable such a composition would make the wood, and how fiercely it burned when once ignited. There had been a perceptible odour of some sort experienced in the Exchange building for some days, and this was afterwards discovered to have arisen from the woodwork under the council-chamber having taken fire through a flue communicating from the Loan-office; and there is no doubt it had been smouldering for days before it actually made its appearance. It could not have been ten minutes after I arrived on the spot before the flames burst out in all their fury. It was an awfully grand sight. It was yet dark. What with the rushing and pushing of the anxious crowd, the roaring of the fierce flames, and the calling of distracted people, it was an event and
scene never to be forgotten. The building was soon all in a blaze, and nothing on earth could have stopped that frightful conflagration. It was a mercy it was a calm frosty morning or the houses in the four streets adjacent must have caught the flame. From the age of these houses, the quantity of timber in them, the narrowness of the streets, and the absence of a copious supply of water, I am sure Liverpool would have been half consumed if a wind had sprung up. I thought the building looked like a great funeral pile as the flames roared out on all sides. It was a grand, yet dreadful sight. The whole of Castle-street was occupied by people, although, from the position of the Exchange, a full front view could not be obtained, it being almost parallel with the west side of Castle-street. The best view of it was where I stood at the top of Dale-street, by Moss’s bank. The dome, being constructed of wood, soon took fire, was burnt, and fell in. We had not then as now powerful engines, long reels of hose, and bands of active men well trained to their arduous and dangerous duties, still, everybody did his best and seemed desirous of doing something. We did that something with a will, but without much order, system, or discretion. The engines in use were not powerful, and the supply of water was not only tardy but scanty, as you may believe when I tell you it had to be brought from
the town wells, the Dye-house Well in Greetham-street, the Old Fall Well in Rose-street (where Alderman’s Bennett’s ironwork warehouse stands, near the corner of Rose-street—by the way, Rose-street was called after Mr. Rose, who lived in the house next the Stork Hotel), and the wells on Shaw’s-brow; indeed, every possible source where water could be obtained, was put in requisition. The inhabitants allowed the rain-water to be taken from their water-butts in the vicinity to such liberal extent that I verily believe there was not a drop of rain-water to be got for love or money when that eventful day was out. Staid housewives for many a day after complained of the dirt the trampling of feet had made in their lobbies and yards, and deplored the loss of their stores of soft-water. At that time water was precious, every drop that could be obtained was saved, garnered, and carefully kept. Every drop of hard-water we consumed had to be brought to our doors and paid for by the “Hessian” or bucket. The water-carts were old butts upon wheels, drawn by sorry horses and driven by fat old creatures, half men half women in their attire and manners. The buckets were made of leather and the water was sold at a halfpenny per Hessian. They were so called, I believe, from their fancied resemblance to the Hessian boots. You may judge how inadequate a supply of water we had when our wants
were dependent upon such aid. The water-carts came rumbling and tumbling along the streets, in many cases losing one-half of their loads by the unusual speed at which they were driven and the awkwardness of their drivers. Water was also carted from the river, and I helped with others to push the carts up Water-street. The steep ascent of this street in its badly paved condition made this work extremely laborious. But everybody helped and did what they could, and those who did nothing made up for deeds by words and shouted and bawled and told the others what they ought to do.