The troops stood their ground in readiness to march in any direction to which they might be sent. Some of the mob went off towards the east, and I went after them, hearing that they were about to attack some of the prisons, and having a fancy to see how they would proceed about the undertaking. Tom and I had gone about half a mile or more, when, coming along a street which crossed that we were in, I saw a coach driving somewhat fast. Some of the rioters saw it also, and some seizing the horses’ heads, others proceeded to open the door, crying out that the person inside was a papist escaping from justice.
“Papist! I am no papist,” cried out an old gentleman from the interior; “let my carriage proceed on, scoundrels, or I’ll break some of your heads for you.”
This threat had no effect; indeed, from the appearance of the fellows I had no doubt that their only object in attacking the carriage was for the sake of robbing the inmate. I had this time taken care to come out provided with a stout bludgeon and a sword. I knew pretty well the sort of coward hearts to be found in that sort of gentry, so telling Tom what I proposed doing, I sang out, “To the rescue! to the rescue!—off scoundrels, off!” and, drawing my sword, I rushed furiously at them, as if I had twenty stout fellows at my back. The desired effect was produced. They did not stop to see who was coming, but took to their heels and left the carriage free. I assisted back the old gentleman, who had been dragged half out of it, and, shutting the door, told the coachman to drive on as hard as he could go.
“Stop, stop! I want to know your name, young man, to thank you for your bravery,” exclaimed the old gentleman vehemently.
“Hurricane Hurry, at your service, sir, a lieutenant in his Majesty’s Navy,” I answered. “I hail from Falmouth, sir—but I won’t stop you, sir, the mob are coming back, and to a certainty they won’t let you off as easily as before. Drive on, coachman, drive on for your life: I can tackle them if they attack me.”
The coachman needed no second warning, but, lashing on his horses, drove furiously along the street, though the old gentleman put his head out of the coach window and ordered him to stop, as he had another word to say to me, and wanted me to get into the coach with him. I would gladly have done as he desired, as there was no object in exposing myself and Tom to the fury of the mob, and was running after the coach, when, looking over my shoulder, I saw some of the ruffians so close on my heels that I was obliged to turn round and defend myself, or I might have received a knock on the head which would probably have quieted me for ever. Knowing that there was nothing like a sudden onslaught, I turned suddenly round, and, seconded by Tom, made so furious an onslaught on the scoundrels that they one and all fled, as if a body of dragoons were upon them. The old gentleman, who was still looking out of the window, calling first to the coachman and then to me, must have seen this last manoeuvre of mine.
After Tom and I had with loud shouts pursued the mob a little way, we once more turned round and set off in order to overtake the coach. It had, however, by that time got out of sight, and though we followed in the direction I supposed it had gone, we did not again see it.
“Never mind,” said I, “I should have liked to have known who the old gentleman was; he looked like somebody of consequence. However, I am very glad to have been of service to him.”
After this adventure I began to reflect that it would be wiser to return home. I could not tell what might next happen. The day was drawing to a close. As we looked eastward, we saw the whole sky glowing with a lurid glare, which I afterwards found was produced by the conflagration of Newgate prison, which, after the mob had broken into and released all the prisoners, they set on fire. My relative was very glad to see me back safe, and on hearing of my adventures said that Tom and I were very fortunate to have escaped with our lives, and positively prohibited our again quitting the house. During the next day flames were seen bursting forth in every direction. Most of the prisons, as also many private houses, were broken open and burnt to the ground, and several hundred people were shot by the military, while perhaps an equal number died from drinking inordinately of spirits which they procured at the distillers’, into which they broke, or were burnt to death in the ruins of the houses they set on fire. At length, however, so many troops, regular and militia, poured into London, that the rioters were completely overcome, and numerous arrests took place. Among others, Lord George Gordon was apprehended and committed a prisoner to the Tower.
Not long after this, I bade my kind friends in London good-bye, and joined my ship at Chatham. I ought to have said that they were very much interested in the account I gave them of the way I had rescued the old gentleman in the coach. Who he could be they could not guess, but they said that they would make inquiries, and if they could hear they would let me know. I felt no little curiosity to obtain this information; but day after day passed by and I heard nothing about the matter. There was something in his look and in his eagerness to speak to me which struck me forcibly at the time, and over and over again his countenance recurred to me; but whether I had ever seen it before, or why it made so deep an impression on me, I could not tell. There was nothing very remarkable in saving an old gentleman from a mob, when mobs were parading all parts of London, and undoubtedly many old gentlemen, physicians and others, were driving about in their coaches, called out, however unwillingly, by urgent business. Hearing nothing, my curiosity at length died away, and I thought no more about the matter. I must remark that Lord George Gordon was afterwards brought to trial, but acquitted of having in any way participated in the riots and plundering and destruction of property which had occurred, as also that any of the disorders had occurred in consequence of his instigation or counsel. He undoubtedly was influenced in his proceedings by a warm affection for the Protestant faith, though it may be doubted whether he took the wisest course to support it. He wished that the multitudes he assembled should merely produce a moral effect on the Houses of Parliament. The ruffians and robbers of London took the opportunity, on finding large masses of people assembled, to create disturbances, and to incite the more ignorant masses to commit all sorts of outrages in order that they might have greater licence and opportunities of plunder. In this they unhappily succeeded, and brought no small amount of opprobrium and disgrace on the Protestant cause. I have now said, I think, enough about my adventures on shore.