Attempted Mass Murder at Sea: The Cowardice of Captain Stinson

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Map of route through the Bahamas. Lotgevallen van den Heer O.H. Bonnema (1853). Used with kind permission of Collectie Tresoar

When 208 passengers boarded the William & Mary in March 1853, they had no idea of the drama that would ensue after the ship set sail from Liverpool for New Orleans, or that violence and murder were in their future. Captained by the relatively inexperienced Timothy Stinson, it soon became clear to the emigrants that they were in a very vulnerable position, not least because the crew refused to give them enough food. Fourteen died as they crossed the Atlantic, a relatively high mortality rate, due in part to Captain Stinson’s failure to engage a ship surgeon for the voyage. Instead, when people were confined to their berths with fever, he consulted a pamphlet he carried in his breast pocket and prescribed them bacon, which did precious little to help those suffering with measles and typhus below deck.

Many captains skimped on surgeons and provisions, and got away with it, but it was when the ship reached the Bahamas that Stinson’s true character – or lack of it – was revealed. He chose to sail through the treacherous shallows of the New Bahama Channel, an area notorious for its hazards and shipwrecks, and the William & Mary was soon impaled on a rock. The ship was washed onto another rock nearby then an enormous wave freed her, allowing the water to pour in through the hole in the hull. They were sinking.

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Lotgevallen van den Heer O.H. Bonnema (1853)

Stinson strode about the crowded deck in his slippers, threatening the emigrants with his own desertion, and lying about the depth of water in the hold, doubling it and panicking the passengers. The exhausted emigrants pumped through the night while the crew devised a plan of escape and quietly removed provisions (and themselves) to the least leaky lifeboat. The distress flag was taken down from the mast and hidden, ensuring that any passing sailors would assume all was in hand, and while the passengers were distracted, Stinson changed his slippers for boots and abandoned ship. Some of the unlucky emigrants attempted to follow, swimming for the lifeboat, only to be hacked at with hatchets and murdered before their families’ eyes. The captain stood, raised his hat, and called “Friends, may you fare well” as his crew rowed him to safety.

Stinson’s lifeboat was soon picked up by a ship on its way to New York. He reported the William & Mary as lost before his eyes, then disappeared when journalists pressed for details. The New York Times of 18 May 1853 smelled a rat:

“…the cause [of this wreck] is traceable to culpable negligence and carelessness. Had the officers in charge kept a bright watch for dangers, there is nothing to indicate that the reef might not have been avoided; had the Captain taken more effective measures for the preservation of his passengers and his papers, the loss would have been less serious. And, finally, the silence and speedy exodus of Captain STINSON argues that there is little to be offered in extenuation. That a sea-captain should coldly report that his vessel had ‘gone down’ and ‘it is supposed that all on board perished,’ is altogether too systematic and provokes disagreeable emotions. It was at least due to the public that a statement duly authenticated by the survivors, should have been prepared and published by the Master, before he found it convenient to leave New-York for his home in Bowdoinham. If there is a reason for this silence, or an explanation for this seeming carelessness, the public will be glad to hear it.”

Newspapers gave brutal assessments of his character, and the Irish newspaper the Freeman’s Journal of 31 May 1853 referred to the incident as “convincing proof of the cowardice or insensibility of Captain Stinson”.

Why, in a time of chivalry and strict salvage laws, would this captain and crew have done such a thing? It is impossible to tell for sure after over 160 years have passed, but it appears as if Captain Stinson, whose father-in-law was part-owner of the ship, was attempting to bury all evidence of his mistakes – and save the owners money while he was at it. If the passengers died, little or no compensation would have to be paid out, and by leaving the people in his charge on a sinking ship with no provisions Stinson could be reasonably sure that only his version of events would survive.

He must have been shocked to the core to find his attempt at mass murder had failed.

“No news item of the month has been so worthy of rejoicing over, as the intelligence of the rescue and safety of the emigrant passengers of the ship William and Mary, wrecked amongst the Bahamas on its way from Liverpool to New Orleans. About one hundred and seventy human beings, given up to the waves and monsters of the deep, rescued by wreckers, it seems, while their sinking coffin was tumbling about among rocks and breakers and just ready to make the fatal plunge, are thus happily saved.” (Spirit of the Times, 7 June 1853)

Thanks to the courage of a crew of wreckers who saw the sinking ship two days after the hull was holed, and the perseverance and sheer will to survive of those on board the William & Mary, the majority of the emigrants were saved. The cowardice of Captain Stinson did not kill them, and the story of what happened on this ordinary emigrant ship full of extraordinary people is lost no longer.

The Lost Story of the William&Mary - Gill Hoffs - hi res image.jpgGill Hoffs is the author of Wild: A Collection (Pure Slush, 2012) and two shipwreck books, The Sinking of RMS Tayleur: The Lost Story of the ‘Victorian Titanic’ (Pen & Sword, 2014, 2015) and the recently released The Lost Story of the William & Mary: The Cowardice of Captain Stinson (Pen & Sword, 2016). She lives in Warrington, England, with Coraline Cat. If anyone has any information regarding these shipwrecks and the people involved, they can email her at gillhoffs@hotmail.co.uk or find her on twitter @GillHoffs.

Executioner, Death, or The Devil Himself? The Legend of Jack Ketch

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Jack Ketch in the Plotter’s Ballad (1678-9). Ketch is seen right of center holding a rope and an axe.

[From the archives] Jack Ketch, otherwise known as John Ketch or Richard Jaquet, began his twenty-three year career as London’s leading executioner in 1663. He was not the only executioner dispatching the condemned at Tyburn, but he was the most infamous, earning a reputation for brutality remarkable even for a man in his profession. After his death in 1686, his name became slang for any executioner, the devil, and even death itself. Over time, his reputation took on such epic proportions that he became a sort of bogeyman. So who was he?

Like many executioners, Ketch spent much of his early life on the wrong side of the law, and is known to have spent time in Marshalsea Prison. Little is definitively known about his origins. He is first mentioned in the Old Bailey proceedings in January 1676 in the case of a man who was executed for a murder taking place in Whitechapel, and who also killed the bailiff charged with arresting him. The mention is a small one, but the meaning is clear: “the jury brought him in guilty, and Jack Ketch will make him free”.

after Francis Barlow, line engraving, 1679

Coleman drawn to his execution. Francis Barlow, 1679

The first public reference to him appeared in the broadside The Plotters Ballad two years later. In the Receipt for the Cure of Traytrous Recusants, or Wholesome Physicke for Popish Contagion, he is represented in a woodcut depicting the execution of Edward Coleman. Accused by Titus Oates of being involved in a “Popish Plot”, he was executed for treason in December 1678. In the woodcut, Coleman is saying “I am sick of this traitorous disease.” Ketch, illustrated holding a rope and an axe, replies, “Here’s your cure sir.” (see top)

Ketch was paid for his services, and went on strike in 1682 for better wages and won. In addition to his wages, he received bribes, but he would have made most of his money by selling off pieces of the condemned. As a matter of course, executioners were given the clothes of the dead and the rope, which they sold for significant profit. A used noose could be sold for as much as a shilling an inch.

Grizzly as it sounds, execution paraphernalia was widely believed to carry serious magic and was in high demand. Even so much as a strand of a hangman’s rope was believed to cure any number of ailments when it was worn around the neck, and gamblers sought pieces to improve their luck. Nooses had been used to cure headaches by wrapping them around the temples of the afflicted since ancient Rome. The efficacy of these cures was not in question, and the public was willing to pay for whatever they could get.

Jack Ketch had a reputation of brutality and incompetence, but the truth might be more complicated than that. Although executions were highly ritualized, there was nothing in place that we might think of as “quality control,” and bribery was a more than frequent occurrence–it was the norm. Apart from his wages and the money he made from selling off pieces of the deceased, Ketch would have received a great deal of money in bribes. If the condemned had the coin, they would attempt to bribe the executioner for a swift and merciful death. There was no mechanism in place to break the neck upon hanging at this point, so many died at Tyburn of slow strangulation, a process that could take an agonizing forty-five minutes. It would have been up Ketch to set the pace of their death and to limit–or draw out–their suffering.

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The execution of the Duke of Monmouth

The condemned were not the only people bribing executioners. Following the horribly botched executions of Lord William Russell in 1683 and the Duke of Monmouth in 1685, rumors ran rampant that although both men paid Ketch to be merciful, their enemies paid him more to make them suffer. He denied the rumors, as anyone surely would, but one has to wonder how a man who made his living executing people for twenty-three years could fail at his task so spectacularly. He was no amateur, yet during the execution of poor Monmouth, Ketch struck him five times with an axe Monmouth himself is said to have proclaimed “too dull,” and in the end had to take the Duke’s head with a knife. The spectacle had been so horrific that Ketch had to make his escape under the protection of a military guard to avoid being lynched by the crowd.

For every botched execution Ketch presided over, there were several that went off without a hitch. He was said to have known ways to tie the rope that would alternately cause the victim’s neck to break quickly or to merely render them unconscious. Indeed, if the body was moved swiftly to a coffin or intercepted by friends or relatives before it was snatched by surgeons or torn apart by the blood-thirsty crowd, there was a change they might later be revived with peppermint oil. If a person was lucky enough to survive their execution, they were typically allowed to carry on living, as this was very rare. In 1709, years after Ketch’s death, John Smith was hanged at Tyburn and left there for some time before he was cut down and revived. He made a full recovery. He was allowed to live out his life and from that day was known as “Half-Hanged Smith.”

Ketch died in November of 1686. For at least the next two hundred years, his name was applied to a whole host of things related to execution. Apart from his name becoming slang for any executioner, “Jack Ketch’s Kitchen” was a name given to a room in Newgate prison where they boiled the severed limbs of those quartered for high treason. A “Jack Ketch’s Pippin” was a candidate for the gallows. A noose became, rather uncreatively, “Jack Ketch’s Necklace”, while the slum around Turnmill Street in Clerkenwell became “Jack Ketch’s Warren”.

Jack Ketch makes an appearance in my book, Tyburn, as an acquaintance of highwayman Mark Virtue. For more on Jack Ketch and the history of Tyburn as a place of execution, check out our post here.

Jessica Cale

Sources:

Ackroyd, Peter. London, The Biography.
Brooke, Alan and Brandon, Peter. Tyburn: London’s Fatal Tree.
Cassell’s Dictionary of Slang
The Old Bailey Online
The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography

“A Most Infamous, Vile Scoundrel”: Francis Charteris, The Rape-Master General

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A mezzotint of ‘Colonel Francisco,’ shown courtesy of the British Museum, with the heavily ironic words underneath: “Blood!–must a colonel, with a lord’s estate, be thus obnoxious to a scoundrel’s fate? Brought to the bar, and sentenc’d from the bench, Only for ravishing a country wench?”

For some people the word ‘rake’ is applied almost as a compliment–a recognition of hard-living and hard-drinking, with an almost heroic life spent on gambling and fornicating. But there was nothing heroic about Francis Charteris; he was not just a rake, he was a rapist, and a serial one at that. There are few men from the Eighteenth Century who come across as so totally devoid of decency and morality. Here was a thoroughly nasty piece of work–Swift described him as “a most infamous, vile scoundrel.”

Redeeming features? None that anyone could see. He was born in 1675 into a wealthy aristocratic Scottish family. He joined the army and was chucked out on four occasions, most notably by the Duke of Marlborough who had him court-martialed for cheating at cards. Eventually he was dismissed by Parliament for accepting bribes. By then he had achieved the rank of colonel–a rank which he had purchased largely through his expertise at cards. On one occasion he fleeced the Duchess of Queensbury out of £3000 by the simple expedient of playing cards with her after positioning her in front of a mirror, enabling him to see each hand of cards reflected in the glass.

He amassed money through bribery, fraud and blackmail as well as by dabbling on the nascent stock market (he was one of the few who did not get burned when the South Sea Bubble burst in 1720). He would lend money at an exorbitant rate of interest – sometimes 100%. It was small wonder that he reputedly had an income of £7000 a year, as well as a hundred thousand pounds invested in stocks and shares. He was a bully, a cheat and a con-artist, and a man who apparently thought he could have any woman he wanted, under some twisted idea of ‘droit de signeur.’ On one occasion in Scotland he raped a married woman at gunpoint, before running away to England to avoid capture. That meant that he was unable to return to the country of his birth, where he owned substantial estates, but in 1721 was able to petition the king (George I) for a pardon.

Armed with the pardon, he clearly felt that he was free to commit rape with impunity–he reveled in the name “Rape-Master General” and bragged of having had his way with some three hundred women. Nathaniel Mist, in his ‘Weekly Journal’, wrote “We hear a certain Scotch Colonel is charged with a Rape, a misfortune he has been very liable to, but for which he has obtained a Nolle Prosequi. It is reported now that he brags that he will obtain a Patent for ravishing whomever he pleases.”

Honour had no place in his repertoire. On one occasion when staying at an inn in Lancaster he reportedly persuaded a young servant girl to have sex with him on payment of a gold guinea. The next day, before departing, he told the inn-keeper that he had given the girl a gold coin and asked her to have it changed into silver, and that she had failed to deliver his change. The girl was searched, the gold coin discovered, and of course the word of Colonel Charteris was accepted, and the girl’s protestations were in vain: he got his guinea back, and she got the sack.

One of the drawbacks of his notoriety was that it was well-nigh impossible to find female servants to work in his household, so when he needed a new servant-girl for his home at Hanover Square in London, he gave his name as Colonel Harvey. It was apparently part of a ritual, played out for the amusement of the somewhat fat fifty-four year old colonel and his friends. Girls would be hired, raped, and then pushed out onto the streets.

As the Newgate Calendar put it: “his house was no better than a brothel, and no woman of modesty would live within his walls. He kept in pay some women of abandoned character, who, going to inns where the country waggons put up, used to prevail on harmless young girls to go to the colonel’s house as servants; the consequence of which was, that their ruin soon followed, and they were turned out of doors, exposed to all the miseries consequent on poverty and a loss of reputation.”

In October 1729 a young woman called Anne Bond was taken on as a maid-servant and was immediately besieged by the loathsome lothario. She resolutely declined the Colonel’s demands for sexual favours. On the third day she overheard someone refer to her master as Colonel Charteris. Realizing who ‘Colonel Harvey’ was, she sought to leave his employment immediately. He responded by having her locked in her room. The next day, 10th November 1729, he sent for her demanding that she make up the fire. He then brutally raped her, after gagging her screams with his night cap. When she stated her intention to report the crime, had her stripped and horse-whipped, alleging that she was a thief. She was thrown out with no possessions.

Brave girl –she made a complaint against Charteris and initially he was charged with the misdemeanour of assault with intent to rape. The Middlesex Jury upgraded the charge to rape, a crime which carried the death penalty. The case was referred to the Old Bailey and the trial started on 27 February 1730. By then the trial was the subject of huge Press attention. His defense team tried to besmirch Anne Bond’s character, claiming that she was a prostitute and a thief. He claimed that the act was consensual, producing his household servants to give evidence that the girl was lying, and that they had heard no noises or screams at the time of the alleged offence. Charteris even produced a letter which his footman swore on oath came from the girl, but it was clearly a forgery. Three witnesses were produced to give evidence that Anne was a virtuous and religious young woman. The jury retired for just 45 minutes to consider its verdict, and on 2 March Charteris was found guilty and sentenced to death.

That should have been the end of the matter–he was carted off to Newgate prison and his goods were seized as being forfeit to the Crown. He was, it transpired, one of ten men sentenced to death by the court that day.

However, a campaign to pardon the appalling colonel got under way–it appears that he had ‘friends in high places’ not least with Robert Walpole, First Lord of the Treasury. More to the point, he seems to have been able to buy off Anne Bond with the promise of an annual sum of £800, enough for her to get married. She planned to open a public house, apparently to be named ‘The Colonel Charteris Head.’ The sum of fifteen thousand pounds was apparently spent on ‘oiling the wheels of justice’ (in other words, laid out in bribes). It worked. Six weeks after sentence was handed down, George II granted a Royal Pardon, and the man was set free. He then had the nerve to sue for the return of his goods, even though his conviction as a felon meant that the seizure was entirely lawful. He ended up having to sell shares to obtain the return of his chattels. Meanwhile the Press also alleged that he made a substantial ‘thank you’ gift to Sir Robert Walpole….

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Hogarth, A Harlot’s Progress (Plate 1). When William Hogarth drew the first plate of his Harlot’s Progress, he shows the young, innocent Polly arrive in London with Colonel Charteris fondling himself in the doorway in eager anticipation of debauching the girl. His manservant ‘Handy Jack’ is by his side (top right).

The public were outraged–the poor because it was a clear example that the rich could get away with anything, and the rich because he was a disgrace and a dishonest cheat. He was pilloried in the Press with books such as “Some authentick memoirs relating to the life, amours … of Colonel Ch—-s. Rape-Master General of Great Britain.” A ballad entitled “On General Francesco, Rape-Master General of Great Britain” was published and he became the subject of satirical attacks by popular writers such as Alexander Pope, John Arbuthnot and Jonathan Swift.

Charteris returned to Edinburgh in ill-health, possibly as a result of illness contracted in prison. He died on 24 February 1732. The outraged citizens of Edinburgh saw no reason why he should receive the full sacrament–they chased away the clergyman conducting the funeral, and pelted the grave at Greyfriars with manure, offal, and dead cats.

His conduct and unpopularity coincided with a campaign aimed at discrediting Walpole, who was seen as corrupt. The idea that “the rich can get away with it” was echoed in John Gay’s The Beggars Opera, which cast the hero as a highwayman and posed the question: why do the poor get punished for their crimes, when the rich do not?

in-bed-etcMike Rendell retired as a lawyer 15 years ago and now writes and lectures on Georgian history. He has written The Journal of a Georgian Gentleman based on the treasure trove of family papers (diaries, day books, etc) kept by his 4x great grandfather. His next book, In Bed With The Georgians: Sex, Scandal, and Satire in the 18th Century, will be out in October from Pen & Sword Books. You can visit him at http://mikerendell.com.

Must Love Machetes: The Legend of Pirate Anne Bonny

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Anne Bonny. Anushka Holding, 2016.

Anne Bonny was born in Cork around 1690 to lawyer William McCormac and his servant, Mary Brennan. The scandal of Anne’s birth caused her father to lose much of his practice as well as his wife, so he took Mary and Anne to Charleston, South Carolina, and set up a new practice there. William – now going by Cormac – was so successful in his new home that he was able to buy a large plantation and Anne grew up in some degree of comfort.

Even by thirteen she was said to be stunningly beautiful, and had more than her fair share of suitors. Lovely as she was, she would soon be known more for her “fierce and courageous temper.” When one suitor attempted to rape her as a teenager, Anne beat him so badly he was bedridden for weeks.

Anne was passionate, capable, and she craved adventure. She wanted to escape life in Charleston, and she married a penniless sailor to do it. At sixteen, Anne married a James Bonny and left for the pirate haven of Nassau, New Providence.

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Calico Jack Rackham

Fascinated by piracy, Anne loved life in Nassau and was known to hang around the dives, drinking with the likes of Captains Vane, Hornigold, and even Blackbeard. Surrounded by infamous men with enough swagger to match her own, she quickly got bored with her husband. She washed her hands of him when he became an informant for Governor Rogers, and passed her time with many of the local pirates instead.

One of these pirates was Calico Jack Rackham, so called for his love of flamboyant clothing. Jack was a pirate captain who had come to Nassau in hopes of gaining a privateering commission from the king. He was charming, handsome, and absolutely fascinating to Anne, who was rather romantic at heart.

As for Jack, he fell hard. He accepted her promiscuous past, and swore she would belong to no one else but him going forward, which she seems to have been fine with. He offered to buy Anne from her husband (a relatively common practice at the time, and a form of divorce), but her husband refused. Governor Rogers got involved when her husband made a fuss, and he ordered her to return to her husband or he would have her whipped as an adulteress.

Not only did Anne refuse, but she became a pirate.

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Anne Bonny

Anne and Jack took off and began sailing together on his ship, Revenge. Armed with a sword and pistol and dressed as a man, she swore like a pirate and fought like hell. Drop dead gorgeous with long, red hair, Anne may not have passed for a boy, but none of the other sailors gave her any trouble. This may have been because it was common knowledge that she was in a relationship with Jack, or it might have been because she was absolutely terrifying. In Captain Johnson’s General History* he writes that “no body was more forward or courageous than she,” and those who knew her seemed to agree.

In early 1720, Anne and Jack had a child in Cuba. The fate of the child is not known, but if he survived, it is thought he was left with their friends there. Regardless, she was back on the boat and fighting within months.

According to Captain Johnson, Anne’s relationship with Jack was complicated when they took on a young sailor from a Dutch ship. In spite of her love for Jack, she rather fancied the sailor and made it known to him that she was a woman in case he was not already aware. The sailor had a secret of his own – he wasn’t Dutch, and he wasn’t a man, either. Anne’s sailor was actually the twenty-seven year old Englishwoman Mary Read.

Mary had been raised as a boy and had even had a career in the army, serving as a cavalry soldier in Flanders during the War of Spanish Succession. After her own marriage had ended with the sudden death of her husband, Mary decided to make a go of it as a sailor. Anne and Mary became fast friends, presumably out of a mutual love for trousers and swashbuckling.**

It’s a good story, but historian Colin Woodard disputes Captain Johnson’s account as there are records that Governor Rogers knew both women by name and that Mary set out with Anne and Jack from the start. Like many good stories, Mary’s account of her life was probably embellished if not totally fabricated. Regardless of how they met, Anne and Mary were very close friends and important members of Jack’s crew. According to Dorothy Thomas, an eye witness quoted in the pamphlet The Tryals of Jack Rackham and other Pirates (1721):

“(They) wore men’s jackets and long trousers and (had) handkerchiefs wrapped around their heads…a machete and pistol in their hands and cursed and swore at the men.”

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Anne Bonny and Mary Read

The only way Ms. Thomas knew they were women was “by the largeness of their breasts.”

The Golden Age of Piracy was coming to an end by 1720, and Anne and Jack were caught in the middle of it. In an effort to curb piracy in the area, the governor of Jamaica chased them down and caught Jack and his crew in Dry Harbor Bay. The crew was woefully unprepared and almost certainly drunk. Although Anne and Mary fought bravely, they were all taken and imprisoned in Jamaica.

At their trial, Anne and Mary were identified only as “spinsters,” which was laughably inadequate and technically incorrect. They were sentenced to execution for piracy, but their sentences were delayed as both women had managed to become pregnant while in prison. Mary died of a fever during this pregnancy, and her lover, Tom, was acquitted.

Jack was hanged in Port Royal on November 18th, 1720. Still very much in love with Anne, he asked to see her before his execution. According to Johnson, Anne, still angry that they had been captured, said that she was sorry to see him there, but “If he had fought like a man, he need not have been hanged like a dog.”

There is no record of Anne’s execution. It is suspected that her father had pulled some strings to have her released, and she was never heard of again. It has been suggested that Anne later married and lived into her eighties, but this has not been conclusively proven.

Jessica Cale

Sources
Johnson, Captain Charles. A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates (1724) (Note: All images are from this book unless otherwise noted)
Sherry, Frank. Raiders & Rebels: A History of the Golden Age of Piracy.
Woodard, Colin. The Republic of Pirates.

Notes
*Captain Charles Johnson is a pseudonym. This is thought to have been written by Daniel Defoe.
**Squad goals.

The Storming of the Bastille and the Beginning of a Revolution

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The Storming of The Bastille. Jean-Pierre Houel, 1789.

“The great are only great because we are on our knees. Let us rise.” – Camille Desmoulins

When the French Revolution features in art and literature, the bias tends to favor the royalty over the common people; the specter of Madame Guillotine casts a shadow that can still be seen today, and in our sympathy for the tragic figures who lost their lives, the grievances and casualties of the public are routinely overlooked. It was not a misunderstanding about cake that led to the French Revolution. When the Bastille was stormed on July 14th, 1789, it was a long time coming.

Death and Taxes

The social classes were divided into three estates: the First Estate was the Roman Catholic clergy, the Second Estate was the King and the nobility, and the Third Estate represented everyone else. Class was determined entirely by birth, and Louis XVI was an absolute monarch with no real limits to his power.

By 1789, there were thirty million people living in France. France was still a feudal society, so the eighty percent of the population living off of the land in rural areas were obliged to rent it from the nobility. They were taxed heavily and most of them lived below subsistence and had for generations.

W.H. Lewis explains: “If the Devil himself had been given a free hand to plan the ruin of France, he could not have invented any scheme more likely to achieve that object than the system of taxation in vogue, a system which would seem to have been designed with the sole object of ensuring a minimum return to the King at a maximum price to his subjects, with the heaviest share falling on the poorest section of the population.”

The nobility, the clergy, and government officials were entirely tax exempt. More than a century earlier in 1664, Louis XIV’s Minister of Finance, Jean-Baptiste Colbert, wrote that there were 46,000 people working in the departments of finance and justice alone, of which 40,000 were largely redundant, having purchased sinecures for the sole purpose of avoiding paying taxes.

Only the Third Estate paid taxes, so the poorest ninety-seven percent of the country supported the top three percent. The taxes the peasants paid were not used for their benefit, and the fees could change arbitrarily from year to year. Peasants seen to be existing above subsistence level habitually had their taxes doubled. As Lewis assures us, the fees were as high as the government thought they could be without inspiring open revolt.

The money collected from the peasants was kept by the nobility with the exception of the salt tax, which was given to the King. In perhaps the most obvious example of the failure of trickle-down economics, the nobility frittered away fortunes in Versailles while the peasants who made this extravagance possible were dying in the fields outside.

Strapped for cash after assisting in the American War of Independence, Louis attempted to compel his nobility to relinquish more of the taxes they collected to the government. They refused. On June 7th, 1788, parliament also refused the King’s request for a loan to cover the deficit and they were all fired. The parliamentarians of Grenoble, where this took place, protested this action by rejecting the King’s dismissal. The soldiers sent to break up the crowd were met with hostility and projectiles, and the parliamentarians doubled down by refusing to pay taxes to the King and calling on the other regions to do likewise.

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Jacques Necker, Minister of Finance beloved by the Third Estate

Out of options, the King called the Estates General Meeting, a gathering of representatives from the three estates at Versailles. Although the Third Estate represented ninety-seven percent of the country, the balance of power was weighted against them and they could easily be outvoted on any issue by the First and Second. Taking this into consideration, they asked for twice the representation and this request was granted by Necker, the King’s finance minister, adding to the popularity he had gained by supporting the parliamentarians at Grenoble.

The Third Estate’s hopes of a fair hearing for their grievances was dashed when they discovered that their extra representation would count for nothing; although they had twice the representation as promised, the Third Estate would still receive only one vote. The gesture was an empty one. When Necker made the ridiculous suggestion that the clergy and nobility should also pay taxes, the nobility turned against the King.

The Third Estate was represented at this meeting by Robespierre, a young lawyer devoted to helping the millions of poor. Having lost faith with the political process, Robespierre and prominent members of the Third Estate established themselves as the National Assembly, and called on representatives from the other two estates to join them for a meeting of their own. They did, and together they decided to write a constitution for the people of France.

The King was not invited.

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Arrest of de Launay. Jean-Baptiste Lallemand, 1790. Notice the smoking cannon aimed at the crowd.

The Storming of the Bastille

The National Assembly became the National Constituent Assembly on July 9th, 1789. Three days later, the King fired Necker.

The King had not only replaced Necker with the militaristic Baron de Breteuil, but he had also sent twenty thousand troops to march on Paris to deal with the protesters. The news was delivered first hand by reporter Camille Desmoulins who had rushed back to Paris from Versailles to address the crowds at the Palais-Royal.

Unfortunately for Louis, Necker was very popular among the Third Estate. He had listened to them when no one else of his class would, and he had been the one to propose taxing the wealthy. Even the Paris troops demanded his reinstatement, and refused to fire on the protesters.

Tensions were high. Desmoulins stood on a table outside a café and rallied the crowd:

“Citizens, Necker has been driven out. After such an act they will dare anything, and may be preparing a massacre of patriots this very night. To arms! To arms! The famous police are here; well, let them look at me. I call on my brothers to take liberty.”

Camille Desmoulins, journalist fond of artfully placed semicolons and giving impassioned speeches on cafe tables.

Camille Desmoulins, journalist fond of “artfully placed semicolons” and giving impassioned speeches on cafe tables.

Desmoulins’ words had some effect; crowds marched on the Abbaye prison to free several guardsmen who had been jailed for refusing to fire on the protesters. Theater performances were cancelled out of respect for the uprising. A people’s militia was formed and had more than thirteen thousand volunteers just to start, and its numbers swelled to perhaps fifty thousand before long.

As terrifying as fifty thousand angry people must have been, they wouldn’t have much of a chance against the King’s army without weapons. We take for granted the availability of weapons today, but they were much harder to come by in eighteenth century France. In need of means of defense, crowds marched on the Hotel des Invalides and took thirty thousand muskets. Desperate, they even took items from the museum in the Place Louis XV, including a crossbow that had previously belonged to Henri IV.

The Bastille mainly held political prisoners at the pleasure of the King and without benefit of trial, so it had come to be seen as a symbol of the tyranny of the Bourbon monarchs in the heart of the poor district of St-Antoine. It was a natural target.

It also held a truly spectacular amount of gunpowder.

The Bastille was seen as impenetrable, and hundreds of barrels of gunpowder had recently been moved behind the drawbridge for safe keeping. Early in the morning of July 14th, a crowd of perhaps one thousand tradesmen approached the gates and demanded the gunpowder.

De Launay, the prison Governor, invited a group of them inside for breakfast to kill time while reports of approaching royalist troops spread throughout the city. The breakfast went on for three hours while the rest of the crowd waited outside until one man managed to climb onto the drawbridge from the roof of a neighboring shop and cut its chains, allowing the protesters to cross into the outer courtyard.

Breakfast negotiations were cut short and before long, de Launay had cannon fired into the crowd.

Violence is never an appropriate way to respond to protest, and firing cannonballs into a crowd of demonstrators drew the wrong kind of attention. Many French Guards rushed to the Bastille to defend the protesters, and a Swiss Guard inside handed a set of keys to a rebel through a hole in the wall. They passed through the second drawbridge, but were forced to use a plank to cross the moat on the other side.

Nevertheless, they made it through. Only six Bastille guards were killed to the protesters’ staggering ninety-four, and de Launay’s head was cut off by an unemployed cook. All seven prisoners of the Bastille were freed. The Marquis de Sade would have been one of them, but he had been moved to another location the week before.

Upon hearing of the event, Governor Morris wrote from Versailles:

“A person came in and announced the taking of the Bastille, the governor of which is beheaded, and a crowd carries his head in triumph through the city. Yesterday it was the fashion in Versailles not to believe that there were any disturbances in Paris. I presume that this day’s transactions will induce a conviction that all is not perfectly quiet.”

Aftermath

Following the events of July 14th, the King reinstated Necker and formally recognized the National Assembly. Lafayette was appointed head of the newly formed National Guard consisting of the police and army, and the Paris Commune was formed.

The Déclaration des Droits de l’Homme et du Citoyen (Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen) was issued August 26th, the medieval system of feudalism was abolished August 4th, and the Bastille was demolished by February 1790. The abolition of the monarchy followed in 1792, and Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette were executed for treason in 1793.

Score Card:
Third Estate Casualties: 94
Other Casualties: 6
Prisoners freed: 18
Weapons Stolen: 30,000+, hundreds of barrels of gunpowder, one famous crossbow
Bastille: -1

Jessica Cale

Sources

Lewis, W.H. The Splendid Century: Life in the France of Louis XIV. William Morrow & Co, 1953.
Steel, Mark. Vive La Revolution. Haymarket Books, 2003.

American Resurrection: The Doctors’ Riot of 1788

CityOfNewYork 1788

New York City, 1788

By 1788, New York City was a rough and tumble, post-revolutionary town consumed by a frantic building boom after the recent British occupation. The city had not fanned out into boroughs. The population of thirty thousand, largely unwashed and illiterate, were packed like sardines into a part of the island of Manhattan that ended at Chambers Street, the location of the African Burial Ground. Racial tensions continued for over three decades until the Revolutionary War. When the Revolution ended, physicians were in extremely short supply since many returned to the mother country or immigrated to Canada.

Horses, goats, and cows wandered through the dirt streets. Gangs of shipyard ruffians roamed throughout the town with impunity since they outnumbered the small corps of volunteer city watchmen. Sewage littered the streets and city dweller released swine at night to devour the refuse. The port of New York was home to the second largest slave market in the newly created republic and because of New York’s history of volatile ethnic strife. Slave owners deliberately imported blacks directly from Africa. Since the Africans spoke many varied dialects and languages, few were able to communicate with either other.

The masses of blacks, either enslaved or free, needed to help build the city were prohibited from associating with whites and even denied burial with them. According to author Thomas Gallagher, “When they died, they were interred in the African Burial Ground above Chamber’s Street.”

The macabre events that almost brought down the entire city occurred in that humble graveyard. Body snatching, the only way medical students obtained fresh specimen for dissection, assumed a disquieting racial element in 18th century New York. The students routinely looted the Burial Ground for freshly buried corpses while the rest of society looked away. They shared the sentiments of a landowner who described himself considered himself as “a strong advocate for science.”

Resurrectionists

Ressurectionists. Hablot Knight Browne, 1847.

I rather believe that the only subjects procured for dissection, are productions of Africa…and those too, who have…been transmitted to gaols …for…burglary and other capital crimes; and if those characters are the only subjects of dissection, surely no person can object.”

A small vocal part of the population did object. On February 3, 1788, the free blacks of New York petitioned the Common Council to prevent the desecration of their graveyard. They made their declaration public.

Most humbly sirs, we declare that it has lately been the practice of a number of young gentlemen in this city who call themselves students of the physic, to repair to the burying ground, assigned for the use of your petitioners. Under cover of the night, in the most wanton sallies of excess, they dig up bodies of our deceased friends and relatives of your petitioners, carrying them away without respect for age or sex. The students of the physic mangle their flesh out of a wanton curiosity and then expose it to beasts and birds. Your petitioners are well aware of the necessity of physicians and surgeons consulting dead subjects for the benefit of mankind. Your petitioners do not presuppose it as an injury to the deceased and would not be adverse to dissection in particular circumstances, that is, if it is conducted with the decency and propriety which the solemnity of such occasion requires. Your petitioners do not wish to impede the world of these students of the physic but most humbly pray your honors to take our case into consideration and adopt such measure as may seem meet to prevent similar abuses in the future.

The Common Council ignored the petition and did nothing; however, the concerns of the blacks continued to ferment because the disinterment of recently buried bodies, “resurrection”, was blatant in post-Revolutionary New York. There were no ways to refrigerate cadavers and French chemist, Jean-Nicolas Gannal had not yet perfected arterial embalming.

The medical profession had a dilemma; there were not enough bodies for dissection. Four years earlier, the state of Massachusetts attempted to discourage dueling and accommodate the needs of medical students. Massachusetts gave over the bodies of those killed in duels and those executed for killing another in a duel to medical students and the infamous Spunkers of the Harvard Medical School.

New York had no such laws. What doctors needed was a law giving all the city’s unclaimed bodies to Columbia College and other authorized anatomy schools, but this the lawmakers, aware of the temper of the people, refused to pass. The only legal way to dispose of a dead body, therefore, was to bury it. Once buried, no one could exhume a body, except by consent of the relatives, without committing an indictable offense against the common law. Although students stole the bodies of poor whites, the churchyards, where citizens of substance were buried, had been left unmolested.

This impasse left the professors with three choices: They could abandon the teaching of anatomy altogether and thereby stunt the growth of American surgery; they could teach theory only and send their students out to practice on live patients; or they could obtain bodies stealing them. In Britain, professional body snatchers called resurrectionists kept medical schools supplied with anatomical subjects. Resurrectionists were usually criminals, and sometimes murderers, who not only stole bodies recklessly, but often fought skirmishes over them within graveyard walls. In America, in the years immediately following the Revolution, the professors eliminated the middleman by stealing bodies themselves, so discreetly they did not arouse the public’s attention.

The trouble began when the studies of anatomy students progressed to the point they needed to do the dissecting themselves. Once, professors procured bodies for their students by paying resurrectionists to steal bodies for them and defrayed the cost by raising laboratory fees. In New York, however, medical students, known as students of the physic, had their own special back-to-school list; paper, quills, books, and bodies. The boys went on the hunt for bodies, despoiling graves of the poor and people of color.

On the morning of February 15, 1788, the first in the chain of the events to come occurred in the offices of the New York Daily Advertiser in New York City. Many New Yorkers were acquainted with Francis Childs, the newspaper’s printer, editor, and founder, because of his anti-slavery sentiments. Like everyone in New York, Childs was aware of the activities of the students of the physic. Childs had received a shocking missive about the activities of the students of the physic from a reader who asked the Daily Advertiser to publish it. The author of the letter wished to remain anonymous and signed it with the nom de plume “Humanio”.

Mr. Printer, the repositories of the dead have been held in a manner sacred, in all ages, and almost in all countries. It is a shame that they should be so very scandalously dealt with, as I have been informed they are in this City. It is said that few blacks are buried, whose bodies are permitted to remain in the grave. And, that even enclosed burying-grounds, belonging to Churches, have been robbed of their dead: That swine have been seen devouring the entrails and flesh of women … that human flesh has been taken up along the docks, sewed up in bags; and that this horrid practice is pursued to make a merchandize of human bones, more than for the purpose of improvement in Anatomy. If a law was passed, prohibiting the bodies of any other than Criminals from being dissected, unless by particular desire of the dying … for the benefit of mankind, a stop might be put to the horrid practice here; and the minds of a very great number of my fellow-liberated, or still enslaved Negroes, quieted. By publishing this, you will greatly oblige both them, and your very humble servant.

Humanio

While Boston had established Harvard College a hundred and fifty years earlier, the only qualified medical school in New York in 1788 was part of Columbia College, formally the King’s College. King George II had mandated the fledgling medical school in 1754. The college housed it in a three-story stone building in the area that became Park Place. The school was equipped with an anatomical theatre and under the control of thirty-eight-year-old Dr. Charles McKnight. Dr. McKnight, a New Jersey native, was the product of a staunchly pro-revolutionary family and had served as a senior surgeon in the American Army of the Revolution.

Columbia-College-Engraving-Downtown-NYC

Columbia College

In addition to Dr. McKnight, two other doctors who, though not part of the Columbia faculty, were famous in medical circles because of their skill in anatomy. Born in Connecticut of English and French ancestry, Dr. Richard Bayley had been educated in England. Although he had served as a surgeon in the British army during the Revolutionary War, his skill at surgery opened doors for him in the newly formed Republic. According to historians, there had been grumbling among some of his fellow doctors who charged Bayley with “cutting up his patients and performing cruel experiments upon the sick soldiery” while working as an army surgeon in Newport, Rhode Island. However, because of the need for doctors in the new country, desperate medical professions forgave Bayley’s past transgressions.

Dr. Bayley and his protégé, Wright Post, had been giving private lectures at the otherwise unused New York Hospital building which had been vacant since the British had housed soldiers in it during the Revolution. The twenty-two-year-old Post was born and bred in New York State. Despite his youth, Post had apprenticed for two years under Dr. Bayley before studying medicine for two years in London. In those days, surgeons often gave private instruction in anatomy, both to college students and to working medical apprentices.

At the same time that Humanio’s letter appeared in the Daily Advertiser, newspapers throughout the city also carried notices of Bayle and Post offering anatomy lectures. The public began to link the lectures with the stealing of dead bodies from the city’s graveyards. Although many of the city elite felt the study of anatomy was necessary for doctors, most of New York shared the same attitude as people of color toward grave robbing. Rich and poor alike considered post-mortem dissection a great indignity to the dead. The public criticized surgeons for their lack of skill and scolded them for trying to develop it.

The grave-robbing students had a number of advantages; there were graveyards tucked in nooks and corners all over New York. The general lawlessness following the war and the ineffectiveness of the city watch (forty-odd men with clubs who guarded the city at night) also worked to their benefit. Potter’s field and the Blacks burial were adjacent to each other in the upper reaches of the Fields, a triangular plot of ground that is the site of City Hall Park. Medical students from both Columbia and the New York Hospital classes were only a few blocks from the city’s two least respected and ignored cemeteries. In addition, since gravediggers often buried several paupers in a single grave, the students could obtain more bodies in less time than in a churchyard where undertakers rarely buried more than one person on the same day.

The students robbed graves after dark, especially on moonless nights when the city’s only light came from the few whale-oil lamps set on posts throughout the street. The lamps were filthy and poorly trimmed. Instead of giving off a full light, they “barely made the darkness visible.” On moonlit nights, the lamplighters usually didn’t light the lamps at all. When a cloud obscured the moon, the only dangers to the students were slamming into one of the posts, colliding with a goat or pig, attack by rowdies in an alley, or even tripping over a mourner or someone hired to protect a grave.

In most cases, the soil above a fresh grave was loose. Since the students worked in relays at top speed, it took only about an hour to uncover a coffin, remove the corpse, and restore the earth to its former position. The students removed rocky or pebbly soil with wooden shovels to avoid the noisy scraping of metal against stone. Sometimes, the early morning sun threatened to make an appearance or the moon emerged from behind a cloud. Speed became essential. The students dug up the head of the coffin and broke off enough of the lid to drag the body out. A corpse had to be disrobed and the clothes returned to the coffin before the students could refill grave and make their escape. The clothes and the coffin belonged to the heirs or relatives. To take them would be stealing.

Since bodies were of no use for dissection purposes after advanced decay had set in, the students made the thefts when it was most dangerous, when the relatives of the dead might be on watch or visiting the graves. Friends or relatives would often place an object on or just below the surface of a freshly made grave, so they could tell whether the earth had been disturbed. Unlike the professors, who were discreet when grave robbing, the students did not take the time to cover their tracks and more and more bodies were discovered to be missing.

Humanio’s letter in the Daily Advertiser seemed only to make the students more daring in their escapades and more contemptuous of the public’s attitude.

One “student of physic” wrote to Mr. Childs in defense of himself and his colleagues:

Great offence, it seems, has been given to some very tender and well meaning souls by gentlemen of the medical department, for taking out of the common burying ground of this city bodies that had been interred there; one in particular, whose philanthropy is truly laudable, has obtained a place for his moving lamentations in your useful paper. Whence is skill in surgery to be derived? Kind and generous Humanio … your head is too empty, and your heart too full … And to whom would Humanio call for assistance, should he snap his leg, or burst a blood vessel? Run, run [he would say] to that barbarous man who has dissected most flesh and anatomized most bones.

Doctors Bayley, Post, and McKnight must have winced to see this unnecessarily abusive letter printed in the Daily Advertiser on the same day as an announcement that showed the students had upped the ante and things were coming to a head.

100 Dollars REWARD
Whereas one night last week, the grave of a person recently interred in Trinity Churchyard was opened, and the Corpse, with part of the clothes, were carried off.—Any person who will discover the offenders, so that they may be convicted and brought to justice, will receive the above reward from the Corporation of the Trinity Church—
By Order of the Vestry
Robert C. Livingston, Treasurer
New York Feb. 21, 1788

The Daily Advertiser published another contemporary account of the body snatching:

We have been in a state of great tumult for a day or two past. The causes of which, as well as I can digest from various accounts, are as follows: The young students of physic, have for some time past, been loudly complained of for their very frequent and wanton trespasses in the burial ground of this City. The corpse of a young gentleman from the West Indies was lately taken up, the grave left open and the funeral clothing scattered about. A very handsome and much esteemed young lady, of good connection was also carried off. These, with various other acts of a similar kind, inflamed the minds of people exceedingly and the young member of the faculty as well as the mansions of the dead, have been quickly watched.

With this theft from Trinity churchyard, blacks and poor whites suddenly found powerful allies since the city’s most respected and influential families buried their dead there. Reaction against the students spread rapidly, and since neither public petitions nor private pressure could move the Common Council to action, letters to the Daily Advertiser increased, along with its circulation.

Meanwhile, the free blacks in the city, having waited for the Common Council to act, had obtained the use of a private burial yard in Gold Street. A man named Scipio Gray owned the yard, lived next to it, and acted as the yard’s custodian. The acts of the students had inflamed the citizens and one would think that the students would have avoided this private yard. They did not. On a dark midnight, a group of them along with the “student of physic” who had answered Humanio’s letter in the Daily Advertiser, went to Scipio Gray’s house and ordered him, “at the peril of his life,” to remain indoors. Several of them then went to the yard and disinterred two bodies, the corpse of a child and an aged person. When Mr. Gray asked them “if they were not ashamed of their conduct,” the student of physic replied that he would do the same to his own grandfather and grandmother and “think it no crime.”

Humanio who either witnessed the events or heard about them second hand, wrote about them in a second letter to the Daily Advertiser. The Student’s answer did not deny the charges; instead, issued another insult to Humanio

Do not to be so rash and imprudent, as again to attempt to espouse the cause of his fellow sufferers (for I take him to be some manumitted slave) without first applying for another quarter’s tuition at the free blacks school; that he may thereby be enabled to convey his meanings, at least in good, if not in elegant, language.
Student of Physic,
Jun. Broad-Way

When the Advertiser printed this letter, on March 1, 1788, it drew a line between the majority of the city did not want the dead resurrected and the few who felt disinterring them was in the public interest.

A clash became inevitable and all eyes turned to a youth named John Hicks Jr. Young Hicks studied medicine along with Bayley’s other students. Hick’s father had worked in the General Hospital as an “Established Mate” during the British occupation. The city directory listed Hicks, Sr. as a doctor. The younger Hicks, like the writer of the letters to Humanio, was both a “junior” and a medical student with a Broadway address. From accounts of the time, many in the city suspected John Hicks Jr. of being both the writer of the “student of the physic” letters and the boy who threatened Scipio Gray, but no historian has proved it. Accounts from the period show that citizens around the town already knew of the macabre antics of young Hicks. College students were younger in the 18th century. The average freshman was fifteen years old. Hicks, who was not to receive his M.D. for five more years, was an undoubtedly spoiled and exceptionally cruel teen.

HEADLEY(1882)_-p080_New_York_Hospital_-_scene_of_the_Doctors'_Riot

New York Hospital

The citizens’ anger with doctors in general, and medical students in particular, came to a head on April 13, 1788. It was a chilly Sunday afternoon and the cloudy skies promised rain. Jonquils and bluestems bloomed about the city and the only sound on the grounds of the New York Hospital was childish laughter as a group of children played in front of the hospital. Though it was the Sabbath, a group of medical students busied themselves with dissection. It was late afternoon when John Hicks Jr. and his fellows were working in the third floor dissection room. As the boys played below, Hicks grabbed a dismembered limb, depending on the account, a leg or possibly an arm, and dangled it out the window at the children. Some witnesses claimed a student placed it out the window to dry, but whatever the reason, seeing the body part raised the children’s curiosity. The building had been under repair and according to most accounts, workmen had left a ladder long enough to reach the dissecting room window. The children mounted the ladder to see what the students were up to and the macabre shenanigans of John Hicks Jr. confronted them.

Writers and historians have retold and embellished the legend over the years. The most popular version of the story claimed that since one of the boys had recently lost his mother, the scene of black and white cadavers of both genders in various stages of dismemberment was especially horrific to him. In some accounts, the child screamed that his mother had died and Hicks lifted an arm from one of the tables and told the boy to “look at his mother’s arm”. In another account, Hicks supposedly pointed a hand at the youngster peering through the window. “This is your mother’s arm. I just dug it up!”

The tykes scrambled down the ladder and the child who had just lost his mother ran off screaming for his father. The war of words between Humanio and the student of the physic had put everyone in the city on tenterhooks and the city was a powder keg ready to blow. The tyke’s father enlisted his chums to help him exhume his wife’s coffin and when they pulled it from the ground, they found it empty. The riot was on.

As fascinating as that scenario is, William Heth’s eyewitness account of incident did not mention a child, but told of a human limb being dangled from a window and attracting a crowd. Perhaps the story of the children was a fabrication and the less dramatic account of Hicks waving a severed limb out a window was the actual event that triggered the riot; whatever his specific action, they sparked the violence. Citizens began to mass around the building. At the sound of the approaching throng, Hicks, along with the other medical students and professors, made a hasty retreat. By the time the mob broke into the building demanding that the doctors present themselves, the hospital was abandoned except for Wright Post and four of the senior medical students who also refused to leave. Post stood in wait for the throng with young men, all of whom only two or three years younger than himself. The young men were determined to save a valuable collection of anatomy specimens and wax renderings doctors had collected over the years. It was also possible that they wanted to prevent the crowd from discovering a far grislier sight in the anatomy room.

Doctors-Riot-NYC-an_interrupted_dissection_harpers

The rioters were in a deadly temper when they stormed the lecture room. Once they came upon the collection of anatomical and pathological specimens that Dr. Post and his students had risked their young lives to protect, they became even more frenzied. Though no one laid a hand on him or his comrades, Dr. Post was powerless to stop the mob from carting away the medical treasures. There are accounts of the collection being burned in a great bonfire, but since it was raining, that is unlikely.

Perhaps the riot would have ended at this point; unfortunately, something, possibly a stench wafting from another room, alerted the rioters. The Daily Advertiser described it as “a shocking shamble of human flesh.” Dr. James Thacher, a witness to the storming of the New York Hospital, detailed the grotesque spectacle in his memoirs:

The concourse assembled on this occasion was immense, and some of the mob having forced their way into the dissecting-room, several human bodies were found in various states of mutilation. Enraged at this discovery, they seized upon the fragments, as heads, legs and arms, and exposed them from the windows and doors to public view, with horrid imprecations.

Another contemporary report published after the riot, also described what the rioters found:

On Sunday last, as some children were playing, part of an arm or leg tumbled out at them. The cry of barbarity was soon spread and the young sons of Galen fled in every direction as the mob raised and the hospital apartments were ransacked. In the Anatomy room, were found four fresh bodies, one boiling in a kettle two other cutting up with certain parts of the two sexes hanging up in a most brutal position. These circumstances, together with the wanton and apparent inhuman complexion of the room, exasperated the mob beyond all bonds to the total destruction of every anatomy in the hospital, one which was of so much value and utility, that it is justly esteemed a great public loss.

It is a wonder that Post and his students were not killed and turned into anatomical specimen themselves. By the time the throng dragged the young doctors into the street, an estimated two thousand people had witnessed the incident. They beat one of Post’s students, David Hosak, so severely that a friend pushed his way through the mob to pull him to safety. Mayor James Duane and the sheriff, followed by bailiffs, tried to bring the crowd to order. In an attempt to protect the doctors from the mob tearing them apart, he ordered the battered medical men escorted to the Fields, the area of the city where the symbols of law and order, the jailhouse, the almshouse, the gallows, the whipping post, and the stocks were located.

Later that evening, a group splintered from the throng and buried the dissected subjects. Bands of rioters left the Hospital grounds and moved across the city, spreading word of the monstrosities they had seen and promising “a general Hegira of physicians”. By then the whole of New York was ensnared by the madness. Medical students who had escaped were hurried out of town while the physicians remaining in the city were forced to “slip out of windows, creep behind bean barrels, crawl up chimneys and hide beneath feather beds”.

Dr. Baley

Dr. Richard Bayley

As more and more New Yorkers joined the crowd, the threat of an outright rebellion loomed large. The mob marched down Broadway carrying lanterns to light their way in search of the real culprit, “the odious Dr. Hicks”. The authorities arrested Dr. Bayley in a bid to protect him from the wrath of the mob who wanted to cut off the doctors’ hands. Bayley joined Post and the students in jail. Some of the rowdies in the crowd began attacks on any man dressed in black, the traditional color of doctors. A splinter group even paid a visit to a home with the sign, “Sir John Temple” affixed to the door. It is estimated that eighty percent of the populace were illiterate and though Sir John Temple was not a doctor, one of them misread the printing on the post. The mob ransacked the house without realizing that “Sir John” did not mean “surgeon”. According to Mrs. Lamb, an eye witness, “(the mob) were just barely restrained from leveling it to the ground”.

The next morning, Monday, April 14th, 1788, the throng massed in front of New York Hospital once again, looking for John Hicks Jr. They had not found him in his parent’s home, but there were reports he had sought sanctuary in the home of Dr. John Cochran that stood across from Trinity Church. Though Dr. Cochran had retired from medical practice, he was a man of great prominence in New York, a personal friend of George Washington, and one of the bastions of New York society. Perhaps because the citizens of New York held Cochran in such high regard, young Hicks chose his residence as a hiding place.

When the esteemed gentleman answered the door, the leaders of the mob stormed his home. The rioters tore Cochran’s place apart searching for him from cellar to garret. Some even opened the scuttle to see if he was hiding on the roof but found nothing. Their search must have been a cursory one; if one of the rioters had climbed through the scuttle, they would have discovered the teen cowering behind the chimney of the next house. The temper of the mob was such that they would have torn Hicks apart, limb by limb. Instead, Hicks managed to escape once again and left New York along with the other medical students and professors. He eluded capture leaving the mob to focus their anger on the doctors who remained. The throng searched the houses of suspected physicians and by the evening, had ransacked the homes of every doctor in New York.

On Tuesday, Dr. Bayley effectively washed his hands of the mess by signing a sworn affidavit denying any personal involvement in the business of resurrection and claiming ignorance of his students’ nighttime activities.

He hath not, directly or indirectly, had any agency or concern whatsoever, in removing the bodies of any person or persons, interred in any churchyard, or cemetery, belonging to any place of public worship in [this] city; and that he hath not offered any sum of money to procure any human body so interred, for the purposes of dissection: and this deponent further saith, that no person or persons under his tuition, have had any agency or concern in digging up or removing any dead body interred in any of the said churchyards or cemeteries, to his knowledge or belief; and further this deponent saith not.

Within a few days, his statement was followed by similar affidavits from Dr. McKnight, several fifth year students, and most interestingly, from John Hicks Sr., father of the most hated man in New York. Most notable was the absence of a statement by Wright Post.

The city’s newspapers published Bayley’s statement and stoked the flames of discontent. By afternoon, the mob had massed together and pressed on towards Columbia College. Upon their arrival, the most famous Columbia alumnus and trustee, Alexander Hamilton, stood on the steps of the college to greet them. Hamilton surely viewed the students’ actions with distaste, but was determined to save New York and his alma mater from violence, but his attempt at peacemaking failed. The rioters broke past him and swarmed through every room in the college searching for cadavers and body parts. Luckily for both Columbia and Alexander Hamilton, students had removed all anatomical specimens the previous day. Their action may have saved Columbia from destruction.

Mayor Duane, Governor Clinton, Chancellor Robert Livingston, and the city fathers joined Hamilton as he sloshed through the rain and tried to dissuade the common folk from doing further damage. The Brahmans of New York followed the throng when they abandoned the college and continued their search down Smith Street in the more elegant part of New York, the “court end of the city”. It was a world of Georgian mansions and cobblestone streets, a universe away from the hovels that most of the rioters lived in. Perhaps New York was a city of “haves and have-nots” but that afternoon the have-nots held all the power.

The rioters marched to the McKnight and Bayley residences and invaded their homes. They searched for John Hicks Jr., dissected bodies, and proof that the doctors were up to ghoulish activities, but found nothing. Disgruntled and angry, they disbursed for the evening.

By Wednesday, anger toward the doctors and simmering hatred for the upper classes finally blew up and the mob wanted blood. The mayor ordered an armed brigade and artillery regiment, but even that show of force didn’t stop the rioters from trekking towards the Fields and the imprisoned physicians. By the time the crowd reached their destination, it numbered 5,000, fully a sixth of the city.

The imprisoned doctors had great reason to fear for their lives when they heard the yells of the throng marching towards them. One group of rioters tore through the fence erected to protect New York from jailbreaks while others broke the wooden plants of the gallows into battering rams and attacked the jail’s brick walls. The jailhouse windows were unbarred and the doctors joined their jailers in fighting off rioters. The guards had been ordered not to use their muskets and no lives were lost, but one of the rioters squeezed through a ground-floor window and was bayoneted by a guard. News that one of their own had been injured so enflamed the mob that the destruction of the jail commenced with renewed vigor.

A force of eighteen militiamen marched towards the Fields with the mayor at the head. The militia was composed of volunteers aged sixteen to fifty who drilled once a month, more for camaraderie than anything else. Like most of New York, the militiamen were sympathetic to the rioters and their leaders ordered them not to fire upon the mob. Baron von Steuben, the aging Prussian warrior who helped lead the Continental Army to victory, joined the Mayor and the militia in the march towards the jail. The city leaders assumed the sight of muskets slung about the militiamen’s shoulders would subdue the rioters and were correct…at least for a while. The presence of the militia brought about a temporary lull in the violence, but as soon as they marched out of sight, the mob commenced battering the jailhouse walls again.

The doctors were in even greater danger than before. Another group of militiamen came to their rescue, but the mob rushed them, smashed their muskets, and chased them downtown. According to a letter written to John Sullivan, the Governor of New Hampshire, the sight of the militia made the crowd even angrier:

(The militiamen) so enraged the mob that they determined to force the jail and cut off the young doctors’ hands. They accordingly made the attack, broke down the yard – all the lower windows of the place and made an entry on the lower floor.

That evening it began to rain again. Clinton, Duane and von Steuben assembled an army of officers and gentlemen swordsmen and marched with them towards the jail in another bid to rescue the doctors. The city fathers did not want a confrontation between their muskets and an unarmed mob. General Matthew Clarkson, a dashing thirty-year-old war hero, heard about the brouhaha and decided to join the militiamen. He stopped at the home of the venerable John Jay, a Columbia alumnus from the pre-Revolution days. Since Clarkson was unarmed, he asked Jay for a sword. Jay gave him a sword, grabbed another for himself and the two went directly to the Fields to join the militia assembled at the jailhouse.

An officer who made the trek wrote a contemporary report:

We marched up to the jail and the mob waited for us until we were within ten paces of the door; our orders were not to fire. The mob were of the opinion that we dare not fire, or if we did, it would be over their heads. This sentiment added to their temerity and as soon as we entered the jail yard, they began to throw brick bats, stones and sticks.

As President of the Manumission Society, John Jay enjoyed a degree of respect second only to General Washington and the city fathers hoped his presence would have a calming effect on the mob. It did not. As Jay stood in place, one of the rioters pitched a rock that struck him on the head and the venerable gentleman collapsed at General Clarkson’s feet. Soon another city official, Commodore Nicholson, fell to the ground after a rock struck him. The throng continued their advance armed with rocks. Baron von Steuben was next one struck. He fell backward and commanded the militiamen to fire.

The militiamen in the jail yard began firing, first pointing their weapons above the heads of the rioters. Muskets were difficult to aim with any accuracy but in the second volley, the militia pointed them toward the rioters. Several went down. The militia split into two groups, some remaining near the jail while others advanced towards the crowd with their bayonets fixed. Though they drove some of the rioters back, the militiamen were greatly outnumbered and found themselves surrounded. They shot their muskets one more time then began to reload in the darkness and pouring rain. That lull in the firing gave the mob a chance to press on.

A company of cavalrymen galloped up Broadway to the Fields and charged through the rioters who were marching towards the jailhouse. Fighting continued throughout the night and some rioters died. Records of the period differ as to the number of casualties: some say three died on the spot, some say five, another eight and still others swear fifteen to twenty died immediately. The rioters engaged several militiamen, gentleman soldiers and volunteers in hand-to-hand combat and the toll was great on both sides. It is probable many of the wounded died later but no accurate count exists.

For the next few days, the militia patrolled the streets and normal life began anew. John Jay and Baron von Steuben survived but their wounds were significant enough to put them on bed rest for ten days. The city jail was almost destroyed and extra guards stood watch in the Fields as the building was being rebuilt. The anger towards doctors was so great that the city leaders ousted them from the New York Hospital building and presented with a bill for the damages.

Three months in jail was the usual sentence for stealing a body, but anger remained over the young woman’s corpse purloined from the Trinity Courtyard. The trial began in late April and the first student brought to justice was a youth named George Swinney. He along with another student, Isaac Gano, had taken the “dead body of a white woman out of a coffin from a grave in Trinity Church Yard”. The court indicted the ringleader, John Hicks Jr., on four counts of body stealing but his case was never heard.

The anger and ill will towards the physicians did not end with the riot and the doctors who remained in the city had to tread lightly. Repercussions from the riot continued for years and according to Dr. Jules C. Ladenheim, author of the definitive paper on the riot, it was a factor in New York being one of the last colonies to ratify the Constitution. In January of 1789, the State Legislature pushed forward a statute to prevent “the odious practice of digging up and removing for the purpose of dissection, dead bodies interred in cemeteries or burial places”.

Sources
Borrows, Edwin G. and Wallace, Mike. Gotham, A History of New York City to 1898.
Friedenberg, Zachary B. The Doctor in Colonial America.
Gallagher, Thomas. The Body Snatchers.
Lademheim, Jules Calvin. The Doctors’ Mob of 1788.
Lepore, Jill. New York Burning: Liberty, Slavery, and Conspiracy in Eighteenth Century Manhattan.
Marks, Geoffrey and Beatty, William K. The Story of Medicine In America.
Ottley, Roi. The Negro in New York.

Francesca Miller is a Los Angeles native with a background in Hollywood history. She has worked as an entertainment journalist and co-authored the biography of Sarah Benhardt, The Diva and Doctor God, which has been optioned by Poverty Row Entertainment for a feature film. Her work has been published in History Today, The Lancet, and Simply Sxy, and she collaborated on The Soul of Los Angeles, a history of African Americans in Los Angeles. She is a member of the RWA and SCBWI. She writes dark Young Adult Fiction with strong female protagonists as well as romance as Lee Rene. Her Depression-era New Adult romantic mystery, Mitzi of the Ritz, is due to be released by Solstice Publishing in late 2016.

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Regency Reformers, Radicals, and Revolutionaries

VH Reformers

Aris ye masses: The Reformers’ attack an Old Rotten Tree, 1831

As a lover and writer of Regency romances, it is easy to get swept away with Jane Austen’s view of that world, where ladies and gentlemen lived in grand houses, attended balls and the most challenging thing that they encountered in their day to day lives was how to behave politely to one another. Unfortunately, for the majority of British people in the early 19th century, daily life was a constant struggle and they were becoming increasingly upset about their lot in life. Governing these people became extremely difficult, which meant that successive British governments genuinely did fear revolution. And they were right to.

The beginnings of the Radical movement happened at the end of the 18th century. Encouraged by the American and French revolutions, as well as influential writers like Thomas Paine, the working classes began to challenge the old order. After all, Britain was becoming ‘Great’ on the backs of their work. The Industrial Revolution meant that the ruling class were quite dependent on these underlings to provide the labour in the factories and mines that sprang up all over the country. However, they were paid a pittance to do it, worked ridiculously long hours and lived in the most horrendous conditions imaginable. While they were suffering, the rich got richer and wielded all of the power.

Only men with a significant amount of land could vote. As a result, until 1832, less than 5% of the total population could vote and most of the new industrial towns and cities, such as Manchester, did not even have an MP to represent the tens of thousands who lived there. Worse still, the landed classes used foul means to ensure that their voice was heard above all others by manipulating the electoral system. So called ‘Rotten Boroughs’, like Dunwich in Suffolk, sent two MPs to Parliament when their total population, including horses and livestock, would probably not fill all the pews in their local church. In fact, more often than not, even having an MP was not particularly beneficial. They were nearly always the puppet of the wealthy landowners who had voted for them and even if they did step out of line, the unelected House of Lords could overrule any law passed in the House of Commons.

VH portraitIn The Rights of Man, Thomas Paine put forward a revolutionary idea that many found shocking–that the aristocracy did not have any ‘hereditary wisdom’, as had always been believed, and therefore did not have the automatic right to govern everyone else. Paine went further by suggesting that democracy was the way forward, that all men should have the vote, taxation should be lower for the poor than it was for the rich, and even more terrifying, the poor should be educated. It might not have caused a revolution in Britain, but it was certainly responsible for more than a few riots.

Paine’s ideas spread like smallpox. The London Corresponding Society, a group made up of craftsmen and workers, began politely demanding for universal male suffrage. Such radical insubordination was unacceptable to the government, so from 1794 all political leaders of any political group could be arrested without trial and then they tinkered with the treason laws to effectively prevent public demonstrations. Despite this, support for reform grew.

VH RewardBy 1811, a group calling themselves the Luddites began smashing the machines that kept them in poverty in the hope that they would be paid properly for their skills. True to form, the government responded with more repression. In February 1812 they passed the Frame Breaking Act, which resulted in the death penalty for anyone sabotaging the machinery. This harsh punishment might have stopped the destruction, but it bred resentment. More and more political reform groups began to form in secret and spread seditious ideas. Their effort became more organised, and as far as the government was concerned, worryingly so.

The wars with France had made the economic situation in Britain difficult. By 1815, there was a great disparity between wages and the price of food. Starvation has a way of motivating people, so civil unrest became commonplace. The Spenceans, a radical group that grew out of the London Corresponding Society, organised a mass meeting at Spa Fields in London in 1816 to protest about that hardship that many were suffering from and to campaign for male suffrage. Their great orator Henry Hunt, might have suggested, in a roundabout fashion, that if the government refused to listen to reason, then other methods of persuasion might need to be adopted.

VH Cavalry

A cartoon showing the Cavalry as axe wielding murderers, callously killing poor women and children.

The large gathering soon descended into violence. When the mob began to march towards the Tower of London, they were met by government troops who used unnecessary force to stop them. A similar meeting led by Hunt, in St Peters field in Manchester, in 1819 became infamous. When approximately 70,000 people came to protest about their lack of representation in the government, those in power panicked and sent in the cavalry to charge at the unarmed crowd. In the resulting carnage, the over-zealous troops killed at least 11 people and injured another 600 men and women. The event was later nicknamed the Peterloo Massacre by the poor, because like Napoleon’s men at Waterloo they had been shown no mercy from the British army.

VH Cato StreetThe following year, the government claimed to have irrefutable proof that the Spenceans were now trying to over-throw the government and kill Lord Liverpool and his cabinet. Police spies infiltrated the poorly-organised group and what became known as the Cato Street Conspiracy was stopped before it had even started. That did not stop the government rounding up the radicals and metering severe punishment. Five were publicly hanged and the remainder were transported to Australia in a blaze of publicity.

While the government continued to treat any attempts at protest as a sign that revolution was imminent, the working classes became more organised. The roots of trade unionism were forming and the masses became more politicised. Cheaply printed political pamphlets and clandestine taproom meetings made radical ideas more accessible. In parliament, the Whigs argued that some reform was now necessary to protect all that England held dear.

MPs and Lords were not convinced and refused to heed the warnings. Things became so grave by 1830, that even the Duke of Wellington himself lost the support of the government. He was ousted as Prime Minster when he refused to entertain the idea of reform, claiming that the majority of the people were happy to leave things exactly as they were. A general election had to be called when the Whigs proposed a drastic set of reforms and politicians traded insults across the floor of the house to such an extent that many parliamentary proceedings descended into chaos. Now, not only were the lower classes revolting, it seemed parliament was, too. For many, it appeared that the country now hovered on the very brink of inevitable revolution, and perhaps, at that moment, it was.

Finally, in 1832, the Whigs were able to push The Grand Reform Bill through both houses. The Rotten Boroughs were removed and the country was divided up into constituencies that were created in line with the size of the populations, and each constituency could only send one MP to parliament.

Better still, the vote was granted to any man over the age of twenty-one who was in possession of land worth ten pounds or more. This increased the number of people who could vote from 435,000 to 652,000, although this figure was still a drop in the ocean compared to the overall British population of twelve million and rising. But it was just enough to stop the revolution in the short term.

Nowadays, the changes they made might seem insignificant, but they opened the door to change. Once that door was open it proved impossible for parliament to close it again. The working class voice was getting louder, and as the 19th century progressed, they showed no signs of shutting up. They wanted all that Thomas Paine had promised, and by the end of the century, they would have it.

Virginia Heath writes witty, raunchy Regency romances for Harlequin Mills & Boon. That Despicable Rogue is available now and her second novel, Her Enemy at the Altar, comes out in July 2016.

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