Quartered in what is now Belgium, these were the Prussians under Marshal Blücher and the Anglo-Allied army commanded by the Duke of Wellington.
Historians attribute the French defeat to a variety of causes, ranging from the rain the previous day that limited movement and favoured Wellington’s troops, which occupied defensive positions, to Napoleon’s worsening health. He suffered from haemorrhoids, which made it uncomfortable for him to sit for long on his horse and survey the battlefield.
Even so, Wellington admitted his victory, which was only secured as evening fell, had been the ‘nearest-run thing you ever saw in your life’. This report is taken from his official dispatch to the War Department, published by The Times the day after it reached London.
18 August 1819
We kept the press open until a late hour this morning, in the hope of receiving minute accounts of the circumstances which attended the reformist meeting held at Manchester on Monday. From the statements brought to us in the course of last night, and which appear to have been collected in the midst of a scene of extraordinary uproar and agitation, we learned that HUNT took the chair, according to advertisement, and harangued that portion of the multitude which more immediately surrounded him; that the mob altogether amounted to more than 40,000 persons – some accounts say 60,000 – collected from all the neighbouring districts; that the Riot Act was read, and the troops called upon by the Magistracy to enforce their orders that the crowd should at once disperse. HUNT himself was taken prisoner – and we add with unfeigned sorrow, that several lives were lost.
The troops that were employed were the Manchester, Macclesfield, and Chester Yeomanry. The 15th Light Dragoons were likewise in the field, but were not called into action. The local troops, it is said, behaved with great alacrity. The consternation and dismay which spread among the immense crowd collected cannot be conceived. The multitude was composed of a large proportion of females. The prancing of cavalry, and the active use of the sabre among them, created a dreadful scene of confusion, and we may add, of carnage. By the accounts received through the mail, no less than 80 or 100 persons are wounded, and 8 killed. The mob is said to have dispersed as quickly as they could. At 7 o’clock in the evening some of the Yeomanry are reported to have fired on a crowd that showed a disregard of the mandate to disperse. At night, and up to 2 o’clock yesterday morning, complete tranquillity prevailed, and the streets were as quiet as on ordinary occasions. The great number of wounded had been carried to the hospital. Hunt, Johnston, and others, who were on the scaffolding, were taken into custody, and lodged in the New Bailey.
No manufactory or private building was destroyed or materially damaged, though many windows were broken. We only notice this circumstance, because we had heard early in the evening, that a factory, which it is now unnecessary to name, had been levelled with the ground.
Such is the brief and general outline of occurrences which the lateness of the hour at which we write enables us to lay before our readers. What actual violence or outrages were perpetrated – what menaces were uttered, or symptoms exhibited, which induced the Magistrates to read the Riot Act, and to disperse the meeting by force of arms, we cannot yet positively state. That a large discretion undoubtedly belongs to persons charged with the preservation of public order, which justifies their interference where they see it directly and distinctly threatened by a multitude, who may, nevertheless, have met for purposes or with professions originally not inimical to the King’s peace, we are not disposed to question. But the discretion, though large, is not unlimited.
On 16 August 1819, more than 60,000 people gathered in an open space known as St Peter’s Field, now in the centre of Manchester. They were to be addressed by Henry Hunt, known for his stirring oratory and for his radical advocacy of universal suffrage.
The end of the Napoleonic wars marked the start of an economic downturn, the effect of which on the poor was exacerbated by the cost of bread being kept high by the Corn Laws. Many of those in the mercantile and propertied classes feared a revolution and in anticipation of trouble the authorities in Manchester called out regular troops and a local cavalry militia.
An attempt to arrest Hunt led to panic, which became in turn a massacre as the soldiers hacked at the crowd. Eighteen people were killed and several hundred wounded. The event was among the first attended by reporters from national newspapers, which dubbed the bloodshed ‘Peterloo’, in ironic reference to Waterloo. Hunt was subsequently jailed for two-and-a-half years for sedition, but his legacy was the growth of mass pressure for reform.
17 September 1830
From all that I can learn from eye-witnesses, the unfortunate event of which I am now going to give you the details, happened in the following manner: Mr. Huskisson was discoursing with Mr. Joseph Sandars, one of the principal originators and promoters of this railroad, and was congratulating that gentleman as one of the happiest men in the world, in having seen a work of such importance and magnitude happily brought to a conclusion under his auspices, when he was called away to speak with some other gentlemen, who were anxious to hear his opinion on some of the details of the road. Before he left Mr. Sandars, he said to that gentleman, “Well, I must go and shake hands with the Duke [of Wellington] on this day at any rate.” The gentlemen who had called him away detained him some time, and whilst he was standing with them, the Rocket engine, which, like the Phoenix, had to pass the Duke’s car, to take up its station at the watering place, came slowly up, and as the engineer had been for some time checking its velocity, so silently that it was almost upon the group before they observed it. In the hurry of the moment all attempted to get out of the way. Mr. Holmes, M.P., who was standing by the side of Mr. Huskisson, desired the gentlemen not to stir, but to cling close by the side of their own car – most excellent advice, had it been followed – for as no engine can move off the rail, any person who stands clear of it, is perfectly safe from danger. Unfortunately, in the hurry and agitation of the moment, Mr. Huskisson did not pursue this advice. He hesitated, staggered a little as if not knowing what to do, then attempted to run forward, found it impossible to get off the road, on account of an excavation of some 14 or 15 feet depth being on that side of it, on which he was, attempted again to get into the car, was hit by a motion of the door as he was mounting a step, and was thrown down directly in the path of the Rocket, as that engine came opposite to the Duke’s car. He contrived to move himself a little out of its path before it came in contact with him, otherwise it must have gone directly over his head and breast. As it was, the wheel went over his left thigh, squeezing it almost to a jelly, broke the leg, it is said, in two places, laid the muscles bare from the ankle, nearly to the hip, and tore out a large piece of flesh, as it left him. Mrs. Huskisson, who, along with several other ladies, witnessed the accident, uttered a shriek of agony, which none who heard will ever forget.
The Liverpool and Manchester railway – the first line to join two cities – opened on 15 September 1830. It was inaugurated by the Prime Minister, the Duke of Wellington, and by the running of no less than eight locomotives, among them George Stephenson’s Rocket.
William Huskisson was an MP for Liverpool who had been Secretary of State for War and Leader of the House of Commons. He had resigned, however, in 1828 from Wellington’s Cabinet over a matter of parliamentary reform. It was in the hope of repairing his relationship with the Duke that he went to shake his hand.
Huskisson died later that same evening. He had been a staunch supporter of the expansion of the railways and the reports of the accident
