Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History BookOpen Original Text everend slanderer a lesson, and this
he agreed to do. "The news of Iconoclast's coming had spread like
wildfire," said Elijah Copeland in a report he wrote at the time;[97]
and since then I have heard from a Northumberland friend how swiftly
the tidings spread from man to man, and from village to village, that
Iconoclast was coming to teach David King a little truth and modesty.
The excitement was so great that the Lecture Hall at Bedlington was
hardly opened before it was full--but the hour came, and no Iconoclast.
David King commenced his address--full as usual of boasts of himself
and insults to Secularists. Time sped on lightning wings; every moment
intensified the anxiety, every movement, every outside sound increased
the excitement. To many Mr Bradlaugh was known only by fame, and if
a fresh person came into the hall the question, "Is that he?" was
eagerly whispered round the room, only to be answered by those better
informed with a reluctant shake of the head. A little man sitting on
the platform attracted some attention. "Could _that_ be the redoubtable
Iconoclast?" asked some of the anxious ones; no one seemed to know the
stranger, and at last the feeling grew so intense that some one put
the question directly to the unknown man on the platform, and without
surprise he received the obvious answer. The lecture was nearing its
close, and as all danger of the threatened opposition seemed passing
away the lecturer's language grew more and more unrestrained. When,
hark! what was that? A noise outside of many feet, a loud determined
knock, the door thrown open impetuously, letting in a flood of fresh
cold air, and with it the almost-despaired of Iconoclast, who was
greeted with deafening cheers. When the real man came, no one had any
doubt as to his identity--he was recognised at once by all. David
King's tone changed directly, and when the time for discussion came
Mr Bradlaugh gave the lesson he had come to teach, to the unbounded
delight and satisfaction of all the Freethinkers present. After the
discussion came the return drive of twelve or fourteen miles in the
cold and the rain to Newcastle, which was reached at two in the
morning. While my father snatched a couple of hours' sleep, some of
his friends sat and watched in order to rouse him for the Scotch
express, which passed through Newcastle about five o'clock. Arrived
at Edinburgh, my father found he had twenty minutes to wait, so he
thought he would get some breakfast, but "alas!" said he, "it was
Sunday morning, and starvation takes precedence of damnation in the
_unco guid_ city. Instead of drinking hot coffee, I had to shiver in
the cold, admiring the backs of the tumble-down-looking houses in the
high "toon" for want of better occupation. I arrived in Glasgow just
one hour before the time fixed for the morning lecture--dirty, weary,
hungry, thirsty, and sleepy."[98]
[Footnote 97: _National Reformer._]
[Footnote 98: _National Reformer_, November 4 (1866).]
After the evening lecture Mr Bradlaugh had to hurry from the platform
of the Eclectic Hall to catch the train which steamed out of Glasgow
at twenty minutes to nine, so that he might be in time for Monday
morning's business in the city, having spent two nights out of bed,
travelled about 900 miles, and spoken at Bedlington and three times in
Glasgow in less than forty-eight hours.
Four weeks from the day of his Glasgow lectures,[99] my father was
arrested at Huddersfield. Two accounts of this were given in the
_National Reformer_, one from the pen of Mr Bradlaugh, and one from
that of a gentleman who was with him the greater part of the time. It
was a case of "the Devonport blunder" being repeated by "the Religious
Party of Huddersfield."
[Footnote 99: On November 25 (1866).]
The Philosophical Hall, which for some little time previously had
been used as a theatre, had been duly taken for "three lectures by
Iconoclast;" there was a written agreement, the deposit paid, and
a harmonium taken by the Huddersfield Freethought Society into the
Hall. Placards announcing the subjects of the lectures ("Temperance,"
"Reform," and "The Twelve Apostles ") and the name of the lecturer were
posted more than a fortnight beforehand throughout the town and upon
the hall itself. On Saturday, at the eleventh hour, the proprietor,
Mr Morton Price, secretly urged by persons too cowardly to appear
themselves--at least, so it was rumoured--resolved that the lectures
should not take place, and on Sunday morning Mr Bradlaugh "found the
doors of the building locked and barred, and the police authorities on
the alert. I tried," he tells us, "to gain admittance, but the wooden
barriers were far stronger than my shoulders, and after bruising myself
more than the doors, and waiting in the rain for about forty minutes,
while some sort of iron bar was vainly searched for, I returned very
disconsolate to my lodgings. Several members of the Huddersfield
Society begged me to lecture in Senior's schoolroom, but I positively
refused; there were friends in from the country for miles round who
could not be contained in so small a meeting-place. The Yorkshire
energy was roused, and a dozen volunteers started to open the door;
I followed, and came in time to twist a crowbar into curious shapes,
and be arrested by the police and lodged in the station. At first I
was ordered into a cell; my money, watch and chain, keys, toothpick,
and other dangerous weapons being taken from me. As, however, since
Devonport, where the lock-up was damp, I object to cells on principle,
I gently argued the matter, and ultimately the presiding authority
announced that I should be let out _if I could get a magistrate to
become bail_. This was not very probable, and looked like being locked
up for two whole days, but two good friends not only started to arrange
with some local magistrate about bail, but actually succeeded. During
the time they were absent I had, however, effected my own release
from custody without any bail at all.... When the charge was entered
by Superintendent Hannan, who, I am bound to say, behaved in a most
gentleman-like and courteous manner, I again discussed the matter,
and ultimately the stage-manager said he would find bail if I would
agree not to lecture. This I indignantly refused. I came to lecture,
and I meant to lecture; and after many _pour parlers_, I walked out of
custody without any other condition than my word of honour to appear
before the magistrates to answer the charge on the following Tuesday.
The news spread like wildfire, and I had an enormous audience, crowding
the theatre from floor to ceiling, the chiefs of the police honouring
us with their presence."
People had come from far and near to hear him lecture--from Dewsbury,
Bradford, Leeds, Halifax, Manchester, and elsewhere, and great was the
dismay when it was found that the Hall doors were closed against them.
When it was known that he would not lecture in the schoolroom, and he
had determined to make an effort to Previous Next |