The keeper and the turnkeys tried to keep the
gates firm against the pressure, but the doors
soon gave way, and were thrown into the river
Frome. The scoundrels began to force an old
window, when Mr. Evans, the keeper, appeared
with a blunderbuss, and threatened to kill the
first man who lifted a stone. He kept about
fifteen thousand madmen at bay in this manner
for a quarter of an hour. Then being told that
the 14th Dragoons had been sent out of the city,
his heart failed him, and he handed down the
keys for the rioters to release any prisoners
they wanted. He and his wife and children
escaped over the roofs, and at the same moment
the prison burst into a flame.

A large party then attacked the new jail, a
strong stone building. The rioters stopped on
their way to the jail at Messrs. Acramain's
warehouse. The ringleader, a well-dressed man,
ordered the workmen to bring him two dozen
sledge-hammers, two dozen crowbars and
wedges, and three pairs of spanners, to take off
the nuts from doors. All these tools, he said,
he should expect to see returned to the
warehouse. Two aldermen and about sixty constables
arrived at this moment, and were instantly
pelted and beaten off. The streets were filled
with respectably dressed people, but none of
them joined the magistrates. This was a terrible
omen of fear and indifference. After three-
quarters of an hour's pounding the large gates
gave way, and the mob stormed in. Everything
movable was thrown into the New River,
including the governor's books and the prison
caravan. Only three prisoners had yet been
liberated when the 3rd Dragoons arrived, looked
in at the gate, then wheeled round, held up
their hands, and rode off, according to Colonel
Brereton's directions, cheered by the mob, who
now cried:

"The soldiers are with us!"

One hundred and seventy prisoners were
instantly released, stripped of their prison clothes,
and dismissed, half naked, with tremendous
cheering. Orders were then given to " go to
Hill's-bridge and stop the London mail!" A
well-to-do man, named Davis, who had given
the released prisoners money, then put his hat
on his umbrella (it was raining hard), waved it
to cheer the mob, and cried:

"Now, d—-n ye, we will have reform.
This is what ought to have been done years
ago!"

A black handkerchief was tied as a signal
to the weathercock over the porter's lodge,
and the prison was fired. The straw in the
wards was heaped round the treadmill, and
the benches in the chapel were rubbed with a
prepared liquid brought in tins by the rioters,
and then placed on their ends. The fire was so
intense as even to calcine the massive stone
corbels of the roof. The cry in the crowd was,
"The king and reform!" The mob now began
also in some places to levy contributions.

From the jail a band ot about three hundred
persons next went to the toll-house by Cumberland
Basin, and threw the towing-path gate into
the river. The ringleader, a respectable-looking
stalwart man, came to the toll-house, and said:

"These gates were to have been down five
years ago. Not down yet. Go it, my lads!"

They burnt the toll-house there and at the
Prince's-street bridge, and then inquired at the
basin what ships had come down that tide, and
what steam-vessels were expected. While these
flames were rising and joining in one vast sheaf of
crimsoned smoke, two hundred citizens had
assembled at the Guildhall, offering to act, but
not unless supported by the soldiers. Colonel
Brereton, who was present, refused repeatedly
and peremptorily to recall the 14th Dragoons.
All was terror and confusion. The wildest
schemes were proposed. One man wished to
throw all the stock of Mr. Hole, a leading
gunsmith (value five thousand pounds), into the
river, for fear the mob should arm itself. The
vice-president of the Political Union, who, as an
honest partisan, had tried to disperse the rioters,
suggested swinging the bridges, and so leaving
the rioters helpless on an island. Amid all this
alarm, the magistrates sent off despatches to
London, Gloucester, Cardiff, Bath, &c.—in all,
seven places—for troops.

About half-past six Lawford's Gate Prison
was fired; the assailants knocked the irons off
twenty-three prisoners, broke up the parish
stocks, attacked the lock-up house in Pennywell-
lane, and attempted to set fire to a spirit
shop which they plundered. A huge man, with
a bar on his shoulder, directed the rioters, and
one of the ringleaders, waving the Bridewell
keys in the shop of a druggist where he asked
for money, cried out:

"I'm off to the bishop's palace."

Yes, that was the next bonne bouche for
these violent protesters against Toryism. Three
prisons were already alight—that showed the
mob's hatred for misused law; the recorder
had been chased out of the city—that proved
their hatred to obstinate politicians; the
Mansion House had been sacked—that showed their
rage against obdurate and over-fed aldermen.
Now the bishop's palace and the cathedral were
to be attacked, to show the antipathy of the
people to a Tory church that the people were
taught to believe was overpaid and
underworked. The mob moved towards College-
green in three divisions, beating time on the
paving-stones with the crowbars. Davis, their
orator, stood near the deanery, abusing the
bishops, and saying it was a shame a bishop
should have forty thousand pounds a year while
so many were poor. The doors of the palace
yard were instantly torn away, and the mob,
rushing through the cloisters to the palace door,
forced it with a crowbar, and entered, shouting
angrily:

"The king and no bishops!"

In a moment they broke all the glass and set
the tables on fire, with heaps of broken furniture.
In the kitchen they heaped the hot coals
on the dressers, and placed wood over them.
Up-stairs they cut the feather-beds open, and
put fire inside them also. While the mob was still