present the people's petition to the Prince
Regent. He had been to Carlton House, and
had asked for an audience. He was there told
to present the petition through the Home Secretary
at the next levee. He had then carried it to
Lord Sidmouth's office. Lord Sidmouth had
received him politely (artful old rat–catcher), and
the next day had written to say that he had
presented the petition, but on no occasion had the
present royal family ever returned answers to
petitions except from the city of London or the
universities. But the petition had been attended
to. The Regent had sent five thousand pounds to
the soup committee, but it came from droits of
Admiralty, of which the sailors had been robbed.
What should be done next? Would they give
up the thing? (No, no.) He was not to be put
down by calumny. They had had the honour
of being attended, by a regular army. He would
tell the people how to oppose their artillery,
by the artillery of reason, truth, and justice.
He would go on, if all the artillery of Europe
were in that field against him. Parliament was
to meet on the 28th of January, and he would
propose some resolutions and a petition to the
House of Commons. Would they all sign?
(Yes, yes.) Hoped they'd disperse quietly.
Moved resolutions—same as those proposed at
the Common Hall ten days before by Mr.
Waithman. A Mr. Haydon seconded them.
Carried unanimously. Hunt moved a petition to
parliament for a general reform. Waddington
seconded. Hunt moved that Lord Cochrane
(then in persecution) should present it. Part of
meeting wished Burdett should join Lord Cochrane.
That amendment was at length carried,
and the tumultuous meeting adjourned quietly
to the second Monday after the meeting of
parliament. Hunt rode home on horseback like a
conqueror, to his hotel in Bouverie–street, and
was cheered loudly by that deluge of a crowd.
It was well for the orator that the meeting did
end tranquilly, for the Guards had been in readiness
at various points, as Gronow, that agreeable
dandy, one of their officers, informs us.

But Hunt did not go half far enough for the
Spenceans and the Red Republican party, who
wanted plunder, revolution, and murder. Violent
men had arrived at Spafields, an hour before
Hunt arrived. It had probably been held advisable
thus to anticipate the soldiers, and make
an early dash at the gunsmiths' shops (à la mode
de Paris) before marching on the Tower, which
to the eyes of men like Thistlewood fully
represented the Bastille. There were no prisoners
in the Tower, true, nor had it ever been a
stronghold of oppression, but, theatrically, it
was necessary to consider it the Bastille, and
therefore it was to be taken by storm. Certain
conspirators, who wished to turn all to mischief,
had already arranged their plans, hoping to be
followed by the turbulent masses, whatever they
did. Early in the morning a mob of two or three
hundred persons bore down on Smithfield,
increasing as they went, and, joining another
mob rolling up from Finsbury–square, proceeded
towards Coldbath–fields, where the Spenceans
had already arrived with a waggon containing
arms, ammunition, and a banner, on which was
inscribed:

"The brave soldiers are our friends. Treat
them kindly."

Watson, the surgeon, spoke from the waggon,
from which two tricolor flags were
displayed, in a violent address, and his son
followed him with a speech still more insane and
dangerous. He declaimed against the uselessness
of petitions till he grew mad with talking.
"If they will not give us what we want,"
screamed the young maniac, "shall we not take
it? (Cries of 'Yes.') Are you willing to lake
it? (Yes.) Will you go and take it? (Yes.)
If I jump down amongst you, will you come
and take it? (Yes, yes.) Will you follow me?"
(Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES.) Down he leaped
from the waggon, and rushed towards Coppice–
row; two sailors, Cashman and another, carrying
the tricolor flags. A man named Hooper,
who wore a tricolor cockade, walked beside
the leaders. At Coppice–row two brave men
bearded this mob. Mr. Stafford, the chief clerk
of Bow–street, dashed at one of the flags. John
Limbrick, an officer from Hatton–garden police–
office, hearing a call for help, hurried in, tore
down a banner, and collared young Watson:
whom Hooper, however, rescued.

About two hundred rioters rushed on to Skinner–
street. There was a small dingy gunmaker's
shop (one Beckwith's), No. 58, at the corner of
Snow–hill, that little knew how famous it was
soon to become quiet enough that morning, with
aproned workmen looking down gun–barrels, and
trying locks, but soon to be the centre of a popular
typhoon, and glared at by a thousand fierce
eyes. Shortly after twelve, two or three men, led
by young Watson, entered the shop roughly and
demanded fire–arms. There were in the shop,
from a hundred and fifty to two hundred fowling–
pieces, and about two hundred pistols, with
ammunition, to the value of thirteen hundred
pounds.

Mr. Platt, a gentleman in the shop at the time
on business, seeing that the gunsmith himself
was absent, and being a relation of Beckwith's,
took upon himself kindly to remonstrate with the
felonious rioters. Young Watson, being grappled
by Platt, either intentionally or accidentally
retaliated by shooting him. The pistol–shot was
scarcely fired, before compunction came over
young Watson, mingled somewhat oddly with
professional feeling. He knelt down, and, saying
he was a surgeon, examined the groaning
and bleeding man. He was at once secured by
a Bow–street officer, who sent Mr. Griffin, a
perfumer, who was also in the shop at the time, for
handcuffs, and carried Watson for security to
an upper room. Thereupon gathered round the
house a tumultuous and enraged mob, who
seized Griffin as he returned with the
handcuffs.

Now the work began. A man named Gunnel,
in a drayman's dress, smashed in one
window with a broomstick. Cashman, the
young sailor, a fine athletic young fellow,