The Peterloo Massacre - The Music and Poetry

Chapter Five

Radical and Loyalist Poetry

Prefatory Lines.

In Eighteen Hundred and Nineteen I stood
Upon the famous field of Peterloo,-
Where, met to do their country good,
The million were, the harmless and the true,-
Beside the banner, on which was inscribed
Words breathing freedom for trade in corn;
The Yeomanry, who had strong drink imbibed,
Dispersed the people with their banners torn :
Many were killed, and others wounded sore;
A Lancer officer became my friend,
Waving his sword o’er th’ path I might explore,
And his assistance he did kindly lend.
Forty long years have travelled to the past,
The future brighter unto me beseems;
True liberty shall be man’s lot at last,
Or I am troubled with deceiving dreams:
Meanwhile, a simple poets humble pen
May speak to soldiers and to gentlemen;
And, after many years of worldly strife,
I now must thank a soldier for my life.

February 10, 1860. E. R.

Immediatly after Peterloo there was a flood of verse from the loyalists on the one side and the Radicals on the other. A selection of some of this verse is presented in this Chapter. Apart from the indignation that came from both sides after Peterloo, that is, the righteous anger of those who were attacked as well as those who were ordered to attack, there is evidence of what might be regarded as the more emotional responses from both sides in the poetry produced and circulated afterwards. The efforts of the Loyalists were jingoistic and triumphant, those of the Radicals closer to the tragedy.

Loyalist Verse.

The Answer To Peterloo.

On the sixteenth day of August, eighteen hundred and nineteen,
All in the town Manchester the Rebelly Crew were seen,
They call themselves reformers, and by Hunt the traitor true,
To attend a treason meeting on the plains of Peter-Loo.

Those hearers of their patron’s call came flocking into town,
Both Male and Female radical, and many a gapeing clown,
Some came without their breakfast, which made their bellies rue;
But got a warm baggin on the plains of Peter-Loo.

From Stayley-Bridge they did advance with a band of music fine,
And brought a cap of liberty from Ashton-under-lyne ;
There was Macclesfield and Stockport lads, and Oldham roughheads to,
Came to hear the treason sermon preached by Hunt at Peterloo.

About the hour of one o’clock this champion too the chair,
Surrounded by his aid-de-camps, his orders for to hear,
And disperse them through that Rebelly Mob, which around his
Standard drew ;
But they got their jackets dusted on the plains of Peterloo.

They hoisted up treason caps and flags, as plainly you may see,-
And with local acclamations shouted Hunt and liberty ;
They swore no man should spoil their plan, but well our Yeoman
Knew;
They assembled in St James Square, and marched for Peter-Loo.

The Rochdale band of music, with harmony sublime,
Had placed themselves convenient to amuse Hunt’s concubine ;
But soon their big drum was broke, all by our Yeomen true ;
They dropped their instruments, and run away from Peter-Loo.

When the Yeomen did advance the mob began to fly,
Some thousands of old hats and clogs behind there did lie ;
They soon pulled down their Treason Flags, and numbers of them
flew ;
And Hunt they took a prisoner on the plains of Peter-Loo.

Now Hunt is taken prisoner and sent to Lancaster gaol,
With seven of his foremost men, their sorrows to bewail ;
His mistress sent to hospital her face for to renew,
For she got it closely shaven on the plains of Peter-Loo.

Success attend those warlike men, our Yeoman Volunteers,
And all their Gallant Officers who knows no dread or fears,
Likewise the Irish Trumpeter, that loud his trumpet blew,
And took a cap of liberty from them at Peter-Loo.

Now to conclude and make an end, here’s health to George our
King,
And all those Gallant Yeomanry whose praises I loudly sing ;
May Magistrates and Constables with zeal their duty do ;
And may they prove victorious upon every Peter-Loo.





Most recently Robert Poole in his article The March to Peterloo: Politics and Festivity in Late Georgian England, (2006), has drawn our attention to the fact that on the 17th September 1822, Aston’s Manchester Herald published the following ultra-loyalist verse:

Though enrag’d by the strokes from the radical sticks,
And the thick-flying missiles, the stones and the bricks,
The Soldiers and Yeoman set bounds to their wrath,
And only kept onwards in stern Duty’s path!
And ‘tis wonder, no more, in the scene of confusion,
Then found their life’s day brought to sudden conclusion;
For though Opposition cried ‘Murder!’ from hearsay,
The work of dispersion was done quite in mercy.
There were three lost lives-these were trampled to death,
And one, from a sabre wound, yielded his breath.

Radical Verse.

Although the poetical responses to Peterloo have not escaped the attention of Peterloo’s historians and whilst references to Shelley’s The Mask of Anarchy frequently appear, very little effort has been made in examining both the signed and unsigned verses which appeared in the majority of the radical newspapers shortly after the event. This verse offers us a completely new perspective on Peterloo because it explains and brings into question the conventional accounts. At the very least these verses illustrate how the Radical Poets reacted to the killings and wounding which were inflicted, at the reform meeting held in St. Peters Fields. Within the constaints of a poem the Radical writers expressed their reactions to the Peterloo Massacre and attempted to explain what had actually happened.

Jim Clayson in his article The Poetry of Peterloo highlights the fact that the bulk of the Radical verse dealing with the massacre was published over a two- month period. Between 11th September and 30th October 1819 of the 30 pieces appeared in the main six radical papers-The Medusa, The Theological and Political Comet, The Briton, The Cap of Liberty and The White Hat. Six were reprinted from other newspapers, whilst one appeared in two different London publications. Samuel Bamford’s most celebrated poem of Peterloo appeared in the Manchester Obsever on 7th August 1819:

The Lancashire Hymn

Have we not heard the infant cry,
And marked his mother’s tear;
That look, which told us mournfully,
That woe and want were there,
And shall they ever weep again?
And shall their pleadings be in vain,

By the dear blood which Hampden bled
In freedom’s noble strife,
By gallant Sydney’s gory head,
By all thats dear to life,
They shall not supplicate in vain,
No longer will we wear the chain.

The first to reach the radical press was Stanzas Occasioned By Manchester Massacre, which appeared in the Black Dwarf of 25th August 1819. The writer adopted the pseudonym ‘Hibernicus’ which may indicate either a sympathy or affiliation with Ireland.

Stanzas Occasioned by The
Manchester Massacre.

Oh, weep not for those who are freed
From bondage as so frightful as ours!
Let tyranny mourn, for the deed,
And howl o’er the prey she devours!

The mask for a century worn,
Has fallen from her visage at last;
Of all its sham attributes shorn,
Her reign of delusion is past.

In native deformity now
Behold her, how shatt’d and weak!
With murder impress’d on her brow,
And cowardice blanching her cheek.

With guilt’s gloomy terror bow’d down,
She scowls on the smile of the slave!
She shrinks at the patriot’s frown;
She dies in the grasp of the brave.

Then brief be our wail for the dead,
Whose blood has seal’d tyranny’s doom;
And the tears that affliction will shed,
Let vengeance, bright flashes illume.

And shame on the passionless thing
Whose soul can now slumber within him!
To slavery still let him cling,
For liberty scorns to win him.

Her manlier spirits arouse
At the summons so frightfully given!
And glory exults in their vows,
While virtue records them in Heaven.

August 21, Hibernicus.

In the succeeding weeks after Peterloo the storm of the Radical press was swelled by the inspired lampoons of Cruikshank and Hone. The ‘butchers of Manchester’ appeared in The Political House that Jack Built:

The Butchers of Manchester

These are THE PEOPLE all tatter’d and torn,
Who curse the day wherein they were born,
On account of Taxation too great to be borne,
And pray for relief, from night to morn,
Who, in vain, Petition in every form,
Who, peaceably Meeting to ask for Reform,
Were sabred by Yeomanry Cavalry, who
Were thank’d by The Man, all shaven and shorn,
All cover’d with Orders-and all forlorn;
THE DANDY OF SIXTY, who bows with grace,
And has a taste in wigs, collars, cuirasses, and lace;
Who, tricksters, and fools, leaves the State and its treasure,
And when Britain’s in tears, sails about at his pleasure.

A parody surrounding the Prince Regent,s speech at the opening of Parliament opening Published by Hone in The Man in the Moon in 1819, read as follows:

But lo!

CONSPIRACY and TREASON are abroad!
Those imps of darkness, gender’d in the wombs
Of spinning-jennies, winding-wheels, and looms,

In Lunashire-
O Lord!

My L—ds and G-tl-n, we’ve much to fear!
Reform, Reform, the swinish rabble cry-
Meaning of course rebellion, blood, and riot-
Audacious rascals! You, my Lords, and I,
Know ‘tis their duty to be starved in quiet...

As early as the 28th August 1819 the Radical Manchester Observer published the following verse:

This is the field of Peter-loo,
These are the poor reformers who met, on the state of
affairs to debate; in the field of peter-loo.
These are the butchers, blood-thirsty and bold, who cut,
Slash’d and maim’d young, defenceless and old, who
met, on the state of affairs to debate; in the field of
Peter-loo.

This is Hurly Burly, a blustering knave, and foe to the
Poor, whom he,d gladly enslave, who led on the
Butchers, blood-thirsty and bold, who cut, slash’d, and
Maim’d young defenceless and old, who met, on the
state of affairs to debate, in the field of Peter-loo.

These are the just-asses, gentle and mild who to keep the
Peace broke it, by lucre beguiled, and sent Hurly Burly,
A blustering knave, a foe to the poor, whom he’d gladly
Enslave, to lead on the butchers, blood-thirsty and bold,
Who cut slash’d and maim’d young, defenceless and
old, who met on the state of affairs to debate; in the
field of Peter-loo.

This was followed by Samuel Bamford’s own composition, A Song of Slaughter, and his last three verses read as follows:

A Song of Slaughter

Ah, behold their sabres gleaming,
Never, never known to spare,
See the floods of slaughter streaming!
Hark the cries that rend the air!

Youth and valour nought availed!
Nought availed beauty’s prayer!
E’en the lisping infant failed
To arrest the ruin there!

Give the ruffians time to glory!
Theirs is but a waning day;
We have yet another story,
For the pages of history.

Whilst a prisoner in Ilchester gaol Henry Hunt helped to circulate Bamfords poem by sending it out with his own weekly addresses to Radical Reformers with the following, ‘N.B. This song is the exclusive property of Samuel Bamford, for whose benefit it is published seperatly, price One Penny.’

On 18th September 1819 the Manchester Obsever published published the following verse:

Manchester Y---Y Valor

Sad sixteenth of August! Accursed be the day;
When thy field, oh, St. Peter! Was crimson’d with gore;
When blue-mantled bullies, in hostile array,
Struck down to earth the defenceless and poor.

Yes, yes! It was valour to gash the unarmed,
To bear down the aged-the cripple-the child;
It was manly to vanquish the female, alarmed,
To mangle her bosom was gentle and mild.

Ye cowardly brutes! May the Lancashire fair,
With merited scorn, your base doings repay;
May they scoff at the coward, whose half-soldier air
Serves this counterfit lion the more to betray.

May the ghosts of the murdered your slumbers infest,
And drops of their blood be found in your wine;
Thus, sinking in heart, and by conscience opprest,
In remorse, and in fear, may you sicken and pine.


On 22nd September 1819 H. Morton’s three verses The Sword King, also appeared in the Black Dwarf:

The Sword King.

Who is it that flies from the tumult so fast
Whom the yeomanry bugles are mingling their blast?
The mother who holds her dear child to her breasts,
And screams, as around her expire the oppress’d;
‘Oh! Hush the my darling! Relinquish thy fears,’’
My mother! My mother! The sword king is near!
The sword king with sabre so bloody and bright,
Ah! Shade my young eyes from the horrible sight!’’

‘Base brat of reform, shall thy cries bar my way,
To the laurels that bloom for the loyal to day?
Shalt thou live to rear banner, white, emerald, or blue?
No! this is are yeomanry’s own Waterloo.’’
My mother! My mother! And dust thou not hear
What curses the yeomanry shout in thine ear?’’
‘Oh! Hush thee my child, let the murders come!
There is vengeance in heaven for the base who strike
home!’

‘A curse on your standards so flaunting and fine,
Surrender or perish!- die rebel-tis mine!’’
‘My mother! My mother! oh! hold me now fast,
The sword king and steed will o’ertake us at last!’’
The mother she trembled,she doubled her speed,
But dark on her path swept the yeoman’s black steed;
Life throbb’d in her poor baby’s bosom no more.

H. Morton,
Son of Silas Morton.

The Bloody Field of Peterloo, appeared in The Theological And Political Comet of 2nd October 1819 and was signed R. S. and can be attributed to Robert Shorter, who was a printer, publisher and probably the editor at the time. The last three verses read as follows:

The Bloody Fields of Peterloo.

Wives, mothers, children, on the plain,
In one promiscuous heap, I view;
The husband, son, and father slain,
Stetch’d on the field of Peterloo!

But Yeoman’s hearts are form’d of steel’
Ardent to fields of blood they go;
Their gallant souls disdain to feel,
Whilst dealing death at Peterloo!

My muse the truth shall ne’er deny;
The good, the wise, the just, we know,
Think you deserve promotion high,
The iron case on Peterloo!

R.S.

The following verse appeared soon after on 20th October 1819, signed J.B., which is another clear demonstration of how some of the working-class were feeling at the time.

Verses For The Boys Of Manchester.

Never remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder treason and plot,
Bloodshed and murder carried much further,
Will make Guy’s name forgot.
Blue bloodhounds worse than Guy,

In many a company,
With big wigs?????
To cut up the people alive.
Unhappy the ???accursed the day,
That saw these monsters go to their prey,
Arm’d cowards on the throng,
Charged with horse and sword along,

The laws we need not fear,
The Doctor keeps all clear,
The swinish people’s blood,
Will form the choicest food;
Highest thanks will be our meed,
Then forward ‘urge the steed.’

As I was flying over the ground,
I saw the devil with a blue bloodhound,
He grinn’d and look’d like the other,
You’d say he was his own twin brother.
His brains were made of lead,
No shame his heart had fear of,
His valiant hand with a bloody sword,
Cut an old woman’s ear off.
A twopenny loaf to feed such an oaf,

A nine tailed cat to hang him,
Exciseable Slop, ne shan’t have a drop.
But a good strong drop to hang him.
Hollo boys! Hollo boys! God save the king,
Hollo boys, hollo boys! Let the bells ring.

J. B.

Radical propaganda continued throughout 1819. On the 6th November, Allen Davenport a shoemaker poet published his Saint Ethelston’s Day. This verse mocked both the Reverend Ethelstone himself and his name for reading the Riot Act and the association of the church with the killings.

Saint Ethelstone’s Day.

A Manchester Parson, to church and king staunch,
Much fam’d in the pulpit, but more on the bench,
Resolv’d to be sainted without more delay;
And, the SIXTEENTH OF AUGUST was fixed for
The day.

To contrive the best means, all his genius was bent,
How to celebrate such an auspicious event,
When he saw the Reformers, in marching array,
Move on to the field on SAINT ETHELSTONE’S
DAY.’’

Then the oath of his office, inform’d him’ twas good,
That the vest of a saint should be sprinkl’d with
Blood;
When his Counsellors whisper’d ‘Twill be the best
Way,
The Reformers to crush on SAINT
ETHELSTONE’S DAY.’’

He took the advice, and, to make all things sure,
Read the riot act o’er, on the step of his door;
When the Yeomanry Butchers all gallop’d away,
To do some great exploit on SAINT
ETHELSTONE’S DAY.

They hack’d off the breasts of the women, and then,
They cut off the ears and noses of men;
In every direction they slaughtered away,
‘Till drunken with blood on SAINT
ETHELSTONE’S DAY.

‘Cut away, my brave fellows, you see how they faint,
They are BLACKGUARD REFORMERS!’’
Exclaimed the new saint:
‘Send them to the Devil, my lads, on your way,
And,no doubt, they’ll remember SAINT
ETHELSTONE’S DAY.’’

Shelley reacted to news of Peterloo by writing The Masque of Anarchy and several radical songs in the hope that it would arouse the British people to active but nonviolent political protest. He belonged to an aristocratic class who took politics seriously. Shelley was mainly concerned with the larger questions arising out of current politics; the relationship between political and moral issues, the ideas of freedom, liberty and the tyranny of law. News of the Peterloo Massacre reached Shelley on 6th September 1819. Although Shelley was residing in Italy at the time this did not stop him from writing a ‘savage anti-government poem.’ The following extract appears in Howard Martin’s Britain in the Nineteen Century, (1996):

The Mask of Anarchy.

As I lay asleep in Italy
There came a voice from over the Sea,
And with great power it forth led me
To walk in visions of Poesy.

I met murder on the way-
He had a mask like Castlereagh-
Very smooth he looked, but grim;
Seven blood-hounds followed him:

All were fat; and well they might
Be in admirable plight,
For one by one, and two by two,
He tossed them human hearts to chew
Which from his wide cloak he drew.

Next came Fraud, and he had on,
Like Eldon, an emined gown;
His big tears, for he wept well,
Turned to mill-stones as the fell.

And the little children, who
Round his feet played to and fro,
Thinking every tear a gem,
Had her brains knocked out by them.

Clothes with the Bible, as with light,
And the shadows of the night,
Like Sidmouth, next Hypocris
On a crocodile rode by.

And many more Destructions played
In this ghastly masquerade,
All disguised, even to the eyes,
Like Bishops, lawyers, peers, or spies.

Last came Anarchy: he rode
On a white horse, splashed with blood;
He was pale even to the lips,
Like death in the Apocalypse.

And he wore a kingly crown;
And in his grasp a sceptre shone;
On his brow the mark I saw-
‘I am God, and King, and Law!’

Samuel Bamford’s Lines to a Plotting Parson, which was originally written in 1820, and directed at the Reverend Hay, a member of the Select Committee of Magistrates at Peterloo is described by Warmsley in Peterloo: The Case-reopened, (1969), ‘one of the bitterest, most vituperative pieces of writing in all the Peterloo canon, because it was aimed at an individual.’ It appeared in the collected edition of Bamford’s verse in 1864:

Lines To A Plotting Parson.

Come over the hills out of York Parson Hay
Thy living is goodly, thy mansion is gay,
Thy flock will be scattered if longer thou stay,
Our Sheperd, our Vicar, the good Parson Hay.

And Meagher shall ever be close by thy side,
With a brave troop of Yeomanry ready to ride;
For the steed shall be saddled, the sword shall be bare,
And there shall be none the defenceless to spare.

Then the joys that thou felt upon St. Peter,s Field,
Each week or each month some new outrage shall yield,
And thy eye which is failing shall brighten again,
And pitiless gaze on the wounded and slain.

Then thy Prince too shall thank thee, and add to thy wealth,
Thou shall preach down sedition and pray for his health;
And Sidmouth, and Canning, and sweet Castlereagh,
Shall write pleasant letters to dear Cousin Hay.

The Meeting at Peterloo

Come lend an ear of pity while I my tale do tell,
It happened at Manchester a place that’s known right well,
For to redress our wants and woes reformers took their way,
A lawful Meeting being called upon a certain day.
So God bless Hunt, &C.

The Sixteenth day of August Eighteen hundred and
Nineteen.
There many thousand people on every road were seen,
From Stockport, Oldham, Ashton & other places too,
It was the largest Meeting Reformers ever knew.

Brave Hunt was appointed that day to take the chair.
At one o’clock he did arrive our shouts did rend the air,
Some females fair in white and Green near the hustings
Stood,
And little did we all expect to see such scenes of blood,
Scarcely had Hunt began to speak three cheers was all
The cry,
What to shout for we little knew but still we did comply,
He saw the enemies surround be firm said he my friends
But little still we did expect what would be their ends
Our enemies so cruel regardless of our woes,

They did agree to force us from the Plain of Peterloo,
But if that we had been prepared or any cause for fear
The regulars might have cleared the ground, and they
Stood in the rear,
Then to the fatal ground they went, and thousands
Tumbled down,
And many armless female lay bleeding on the ground
No time for flight was gave us still every road we fled.
But heaps on heaps were trampled down some wounded
and some dead.

Brave Hunt was then arrested and several others too.
Then marched to the New Bailey, believe me it is true,
Numbers there was wounded and many there was slain,
Which makes the friends of those dear souls so loudly
To come plain. ?????

O God look down upon us for thou art just and true,
And those that can no mercy shew thy vengeance is
their due.
Now quit this hateful mournful scene look forward with
This hope,
That every Murderer in this land may swing upon a rope,
But soon reform shall spread around for sand the tide
Won’t stay,
May all the filth that in our land right soon be wash’d
away,
And may sweet harmony from hence in this our land
Be found,
May we be blest with plenty in all the country round.

Manchester Meeting
A New Song

It was in the year one thousand,
Eight hundred and nineteen,
All in the month of August,
Our Weaver lads was seen,
Each bush and tree was in full bloom,
And sun Bright did shine,
To be a glorious witness
For our weaver lads to joint.
Chorus.

Along with Hunt, &c.
From Stockport town and Ashton,
The weaver lads came in,
Who all behav’d with honour bright,
The Meeting to begin,

Upon the ground they all did meet
Like heroes of renown,
Search all the mannor,d nation,
Our match cannot be found.
The weaver lads from Stockport,
Did all come flocking down,
From Oldham and from Middleton,
And all the country round,

Come let us all rejoice and sing,
And hope for better days,
Through Lancashire and Cumberland,
We’ll sing the weavers praise.
Then Sir C. Wolsely in Manchester,
Behav’d with honour bright.

Squire Hunt spoke with courage bold,
When he appeared in sight,
With respect unto our weaver lads,
He never meant any ill.
And in bright shining pages,
We’ll sing his praises still.

Now here’s health to Mr Hunt,
Long may he rule this soil,
And likewise all his gentlemen,
Long may the live and smile,
And let us not forget the day,
That we held up our hands,
We hope to flourish once again,
All in our native land.

Now to conclude and end my song,
I have little more to say,
May our british Manufactures
Flourish more every day,
And our trade shall flourish again,
Through all the British Isles,
Both Lancashire and Cumberland,
And Cheshire likewise.

A Peterloo ballad Innes, Printer, Manchester.

Prefatory Lines.

In Eighteen Hundred and Nineteen I stood
Upon the famous field of Peterloo,-
Where, met to do their country good,
The million were, the harmless and the true,-
Beside the banner, on which was inscribed
Words breathing freedom for trade in corn;
The Yeomanry, who had strong drink imbibed,
Dispersed the people with their banners torn :
Many were killed, and others wounded sore;
A Lancer officer became my friend,
Waving his sword o’er th’ path I might explore,
And his assistance he did kindly lend.
Forty long years have travelled to the past,
The future brighter unto me beseems;
True liberty shall be man’s lot at last,
Or I am troubled with deceiving dreams:
Meanwhile, a simple poets humble pen
May speak to soldiers and to gentlemen;
And, after many years of worldly strife,
I now must thank a soldier for my life.

February 10, 1860. E. R.

The writer Elijah Ridings was a radical poet in the post-Napoleonic era and a well known working-class poet of Manchester in early Victorian Britain. His volumes included The Village Muse and The Village Festival signed copies of his works are located at Chetham’s Library in Manchester. Ridings was in the crowd at Peterloo, and was saved by a regular officer in the army who called out to him, ‘Be quick young man ; this way,’ and pointing out to him with his sword, a way of escape.’

This last poem written 40 years after Peterloo, reflects the ideals of the Radical Elijah Ridings, softened by the passage of time. Written in 1860 he is more reflective and philosophical as well as indicating his hope for the future. Angus-Butterworth in his Lancashire Literary Worthies, (1980), believes the list of writings by Ridings is impressive. His first publication was Poetical Works (1848), followed by The Village Festival, (1848), and two years later Pictures of Life, (1850). Although his own dialect writings were few, he later edited The Lancashire Muse, (1853). A more ambitious venture was made by Ridings with his The Village Muse, (1854), containing the ‘Complete Poetical Works of Elijah Ridings,’ which included a biographical sketch of him. This was followed by The Poets Dream, (1856); and The Volunteers, (1860), which he described as ‘A Ryme of Commerce and Liberty.’ After Ridings turned 60 he returned to his original work with Streams from an Old Fountain, (1863), which proved to be the last of his books. He died in Manchester on 18th October 1872 and was buried in Harpurhey Cemetery.

In conclusion it has been demonstrated in this Chapter that Loyalist verse was jingoistic and triumphant and Radical verse was closer to the tradedy. In the words of Jim Clayson ‘looking at the working-class responce to Peterloo through the popular literature it created gives us a new perspective on events. The radicals were concerned less with constitutional issues, they presupposed the meeting was legal, than with the behaviour of the new middle-classes. They perceived them to have formed an alliance with aristocratic government.’ In many respects the Radical writers achieved their aim because their songs, poetry and polemics ensured that the Peterloo Massacre would not be forgotten.