The Dawn of the XIXth Century in England

Here, then, we have a perfectly independent testimony of the inefficiency of the then method of lighting; and, when once complaint begins, the remedy soon follows.

Gas was known, and was steadily fighting its way. Murdoch, who was a metal founder at Redruth, had been experimenting upon gas made from different materials, and in 1792 he lit up with it, his house and offices. Nay, more, he nearly earned the fame, and consequent punishment, of being a wizard; for he not only had a steam carriage, but in this uncanny conveyance he would take bladders of this new inflammable air, and actually burn a light without a wick. From a scientific curiosity, he naturally wished to develop it into a commercial undertaking, by which he might reap a substantial reward for his ingenuity; and in 1795 he proposed to James Watt to take out a patent for gas, instead of oil, as an illuminating medium. In 1797 he lit up Watt’s new foundry at Old Cumnock in Ayrshire; and in 1798 Boulton and Watt’s premises at Soho, Birmingham, were lit with this new light; and they, on the peace of Amiens, in 1802, gave the townsfolk of Birmingham something to stare at, and talk about, for they illuminated the whole front of their house with gas. Murdoch, in 1806, received the gold (Rumford) medal of the Royal Society for a communication detailing how he had successfully applied gas to illuminate the house and factory of Messrs. Phillips and Lee at Manchester.

In London we are chiefly indebted to a German, named Frederic Albert Winzer (or, as he afterwards Anglicised his name, Winsor) for introducing gas, and we have to thank his indomitable perseverance for its ultimate adoption. In 1804, he took out a patent for the manufacture of both gas and coke, and attempted to start a society called “The National Light and Heat Company.” He wrote several works not much larger than pamphlets, notably one on “The superiority of the new Patent Coke over the use of coals” (1804); and “To be sanctioned by an Act of Parliament. A National Light and Heat Company, for providing our streets and houses with light and heat, where is proved that the destruction of smoke would open unto the Empire of Great Britain new sources of inexhaustible wealth.”

Of course it met with ridicule everywhere. People would be asphyxiated. The place would be blown up. Even scientific men were not agreed as to its value, and Sir Humphrey Davy openly laughed at it. But Winsor, in 1803 and 1804, demonstrated the possibility of lighting houses, &c., by means of the new light at the Lyceum Theatre, which was not then used for dramatic purposes, but more for lectures; and as there could be no possibility of confuting his facts, he necessarily gained proselytes, and money was forthcoming in support of his schemes. The first experiment in street lighting was in August, 1807, when Golden Lane Brewery, and a portion of Beech, and Whitecross Streets were lit. This is shown in the illustration, and, by its means, we see the shape and arrangement, of the first street gas lamps. That the gas then in use was very impure, and offensive to the smell, there can be no doubt; but that it ever produced the effects so comically, and graphically depicted, cannot be believed.

It is generally thought that Ackerman’s Fine Art Repository, in the Strand, was the first shop in London lit with gas, in 1810; but there is an earlier notice of its being so used (Morning Post, June 15, 1805): “The shop of Lardner and Co., the corner of the Albany, Piccadilly, is illuminated every evening with the Carbonated Hydrogen Gas, obtained from the decomposition of Coals. It produces a much more brilliant light than either oil or tallow, and proves, in a striking manner, the advantages to be derived from so valuable an application.” There is a story, for which I cannot find any authority, that at Ackerman’s a titled lady was so pleased with the light, that she wanted to take it home with her in the carriage.

The Light and Heat Company died a natural death, but the indefatigable Winsor started the Gaslight and Coke Company, and attempted, in 1809, to obtain a Charter for the same; but it was refused by Parliament, which gave rise to the following jeu d’esprit: “Gaslight Company. The shareholders in this most promising concern are somewhat disconcerted at the decision of the House of Commons. Some think that it will prove ‘a bottle of smoke’, while others are of opinion that it will at last ‘end in air.’”

The Gaslight and Coke Company had offices in Pall Mall, and in the street, in front, lamps for public use were once more exhibited, this time for the benefit of the West-end loungers. In the engraving a gentleman explains to his fair companion thus: “The coals being steamed, produces tar or paint for the outside of houses, the smoke passing thro’ water is depriv’d of substance, and burns, as you see.” On hearing this peculiarly elementary scientific explanation, an Irishman exclaimed, “Arrah, honey, if this man brings fire thro’ water, we shall soon have the Thames and the Liffey burnt down, and all the pretty little herrings and whales burnt to cinders.”

In 1810 the Gaslight and Coke Company got their Charter, and thenceforward the use of gas sprang into life, and although it may be on its last legs, as an illuminating power, there is plenty of vitality in it yet.

Winsor was buried at Kensal Green, and on his tombstone was cut the text from the Gospel of St. John, chap. i. ver. 9: “That was the true Light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.”

To light this gas or, indeed, to initiate any illuminating or heating power, recourse was only to be had to the old, original tinder-box and matches; now things utterly of the past, possibly to be found in museums, as in the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford, labelled “Method of procuring light in the Nineteenth Century.” This primitive arrangement consisted of a flat round box of iron or brass, resembling closely a pocket tobacco-box, which contained tinder. This tinder was made of charred rag, i. e., linen or cotton rags burnt, but smothered so as not to smoulder out in “the parson and clerk” of our childhood, and the means of obtaining light therefrom was as follows:

The lid of the tinder-box being taken off, a piece of flint or agate, and another of hard steel, were forcibly struck together, so as to produce sparks. When one of these fell upon the tinder, it had to be carefully tended, and blown, until it became a patch of incandescence, sufficient to light a thin splint of wood some six inches long, having either end pointed, and tipped with sulphur. You might be successful at first trial, or, if the tinder was not well burnt, your temper might be considerably tried. This was the ordinary mode, but there was another – made with a pistol lock, having, in lieu of the priming-pan, a reservoir of tinder. These two were combined with a small candlestick which bore a wax-taper, and are frequently to be met with in bric-à-brac shops. Sometimes, also, in lieu of tinder, amadou or German tinder, made from a fungus, was used, or else thick and bibulous paper was soaked in a strong solution of nitrate of potash, and both were ignited by a spark from the flint and steel.

The first attempt to improve upon this machine, which was nearly as primitive as an aboriginal “fire stick,” came from France, where, in 1805, M. Chancel invented a very pretty apparatus for producing light. It consisted of a bottle containing asbestos, which was saturated with strong sulphuric acid, and flame was produced by bringing this into contact with matches of the ordinary type as to shape or very slightly modified, coated at the ends with sulphur, and tipped with a mixture of chlorate of potash and sugar. The phosphorous match, too, was just beginning to be known. The following advertisement probably refers to M. Chancel’s invention or some cognate method of producing fire —Morning Post, December 27, 1808: “The success of the Instantaneous Light and Fire Machines daily increases, and the Manufactory in Frith Street, Soho, has become now the daily resort of persons of the first fashion and consequence in town, who express themselves highly gratified with the utility and ingenuity of these philosophical curiosities.”

CHAPTER XXV

Great fires in London – Number of Insurance Companies – Rates of insurance – Fire-engines and firemen – Scarcity of water – Supply of water to London – The streets – Their traffic – Shops – Watering the roads.

THE transition from Matches to Fires is natural, and easy, and, during the time of which I have treated in this book, there were several bad ones. In 1800 on the 11th of February, three West India Warehouses, near the Custom House, were burnt down, with an estimated loss of £300,000; and on the 6th of October of the same year, thirty houses were destroyed by fire. On September 27, 1802, an immense amount of property was destroyed in Store Street, Tottenham Court Road. The great tower over the choir in Westminster Abbey perished by flames July 9, 1803. The Theatres seem absolutely to have courted cremation. Astley’s, which had been burnt down on September 17, 1794, was again made a ruin on September 1, 1803, and forty houses shared its fate at the same time. Then followed the Surrey, on August 12, 1805; Covent Garden on September 20, 1808; and Drury Lane on February 24, 1809. These were only the principal conflagrations during the decade; there were, of course, as many minor ones as ever. Take one instance – the list of fires within the Bills of Mortality for 1807. In the twelve months there were 375 fires and 356 chimney alarms.

None could complain of want of Insurance Companies, for, in 1810, there existed sixteen Fire Insurance Companies, viz., The Sun, Phœnix, Royal Exchange, Hand in Hand, Westminster, London, Union, British, Imperial, Globe, County, Hope, Atlas, Pelican, Albion, and Eagle. The rates at which they assured were low, looking at the duty they paid to Government – the Sun so paying, in 1806, no less a sum than £95,269 8s. 8d. Common Insurances were charged a premium of 2s. per cent., Hazardous Insurances 3s. per cent., and Doubly Hazardous 5s. per cent., or very much the present rate. And we must remember that money was dearer, many buildings were of timber, and nearly all were faultily constructed, there being no District Surveyor in these days – added to which, the engines were but poor manuals; steam, of course, being unknown.

Each Fire Insurance Company had its badge, or cognizance, which was stamped out in sheet lead, painted and gilt, and then nailed on to the house insured – probably as an advertisement of the Company. There was no Fire Brigade, properly so called – that did not come till 1832; but each Company kept a staff of firemen and engines. We have seen that these men acted as constables when Sir Francis Burdett was released from prison. Although the dress was of somewhat similar pattern, its colour, &c., was left to the individual fancy of each Company – the illustration I have given, being the uniform of the Sun Fire Insurance Company. The coat, waistcoat, and breeches, were of dark blue cloth with brass buttons, whilst a brass badge adorned both his left arm, and his helmet. This latter was made of horse hide, strengthened by cross bars of metal; its inside was of leather, quilted and stuffed with wool, to protect the head from falling bricks or spars. The engines were manuals, and carried with them spare men to relieve those pumping, when they were tired. The most powerful engine of that time could only throw a ton of water per minute through a ½ inch branch, or nozzle, and, as we see, the fire-plug was simply pulled up, and the water very wastefully supplied.

Water, by the by, was somewhat scarce, and certainly not good. Drinking water was mainly supplied from pumps, both public and private, and when we see the arrangement of pumps, in the country, nowadays, how, in order to be near the house, they are, generally, thoughtlessly placed in close approximation to the cesspool – we can imagine, in some degree, what the supply of drinking water must have been like in crowded London, with its defective drainage, and its festering graveyards. There was a supply, to certain districts, of New River water. Some yet flowed from the heights of Hampstead, and there were also the Water Works at London Bridge, which were inaugurated by the “Dutchman,” Peter Moritz, in 1582, and which continued to pump up the muddy, sewaged water, until the new bridge was built. They are thus described in a contemporary work (1802): “The Water Works, on the north-west side of the Bridge, supply a considerable part of London with water for domestic purposes, in the same manner as is effected by the New River. But as London Bridge lies very low, the water requires to be forced up to a bason on the top of a tower, 120 feet in height. From this bason, it again descends into the main pipes, and is conveyed in all directions through the town. The water is raised by the action of four great wheels, which are turned by the stream, and every turn of the four wheels causes 114 strokes of the piston rods – by this means 40 to 50,000 hogsheads of water are raised every 24 hours.”

There was yet another water supply, which was obtained from pumps and springs, and which afforded a livelihood to many hard-working, and industrious, men. Perhaps, one of the last places in the vicinity of London thus supplied, was Hampstead – a neighbourhood noted for springs, where the water used to be thus fetched from the “Conduit Meads” and other places, and retailed at 1d. or 2d. per bucket, according to distance. This only ceased when the Midland Railway ran a tunnel underneath the spring, and destroyed it.

The water supply from the Thames, and New River, it must be remembered, was only turned on three times a week.

The Streets of London in 1804 are thus contemporaneously described: “It may well excite our admiration to go from Charing Cross to the Exchange, and pass a double row of carriages, one coming, another going, with scarcely an intermission. Yet, when we recollect the numerous causes that put so many things, and persons, in motion, we may admire, but must own it was to be expected. Not only are the streets filled with carriages, but with foot passengers; so that the great thoroughfares of London appear like a moving multitude, or a daily fair. To this deception the endless shops lend their aid; it is, indeed, the remark of strangers in general, that London is a continual fair. The display made by the traders, the numerous wares they have to sell, and the continual crowd that is passing and re-passing, forcibly contribute to the delusion.”

Yet the streets were narrow, or at least we think them so, for we have always to widen them for the perpetually increasing traffic; and the shops could in no ways at all compare with ours. Small panes of glass, and small windows were not calculated to show off the traders’ wares to advantage. Even the contemporary guide-books, can give no shops of particular excellence – except those which sold keramic ware. In this, that particular portion of the century was pre-eminent, and one longs to have had a stroll, looking in first at Wedgwood’s warehouse in St. James’s Square, then at the Worcester China Warehouse, Coventry Street; from thence to the show rooms of Derby china, in Henrietta Street, Covent Garden; and finishing up with Spode’s exposition of Staffordshire ware, in Portugal Street.

The streets were not over well scavenged, and, as I have before said, sewers did not obtain much more than in the main thoroughfares. These, too, were watered in the summer, by means of a wooden tank hung below the axle-tree of a pair of wheels, delivering the water from a perforated wooden box at its back. “The Watering Cart is usually drawn by one horse, but on some roads two horses are applied, when the leader is rode by a boy, and the driver sits on the seat upon the cart. In districts contiguous to ponds, the carts are driven into the water, and are filled very expeditiously; but where they have not this convenience, they are obliged to supply them with water from the pump, which is hard labour for two men.”

CHAPTER XXVI

Daily life of the streets – The Chimney Sweep – Mrs. Montagu – Instances of the hard life of a “climbing boy” – The Milkmaid – Supply of milk to the Metropolis – “Hot loaves” – “Water cresses” – whence they came – Other cries.

LET US GO to authentic sources, and, in our imaginations, people the streets as they then were, following the example which Gay has so worthily given in his “Trivia.” Leaving aside the roysterers, and nightly bad characters, together with the watchmen, the first industrial perambulator, would probably be the Sweep. In the frontispiece to this volume, the “climbing boy,” as he was called, is faithfully depicted, drinking his early cup of saloop, the utensils of his trade, his brush, shovel, and scraper, lying by his side; in his cap is a brass plate containing his master’s name and address. Poor little fellows! their lives were harsh! With hard taskmasters, badly constructed chimneys, and flues to sweep, and laborious work, climbing with back and knees; with a foul atmosphere, and lungs choked with soot, their young days must have been joyless. Of course we cannot blame the people then living, because they had not sufficient mechanical knowledge to abolish the climbing boy’s raison d’être. It is pleasing to register within the decade I write of, one good and kind friend of these little fellows – a Mrs. Montagu, who died in March, 1800. She was a lady of good family, and an authoress (founder of the Blue Stocking Club), who even attempted so high a flight as an “Essay on the Writings and Genius of Shakespeare.” In her practical benevolence, her heart felt for these little pariahs, and she annually regaled them on May-day, with roast beef and plum pudding. This conduct was so contrary to the general spirit of the age – which could see nothing more in a “climbing boy,” than a boy being utilized for his own good, and for that of the community, that her conduct was scarcely understood – so much so, that a web of romance had to be woven around her, in order to account for it. It was rumoured, and credibly believed, that she had lost a son, and found him again as a “climbing boy”; and, to mark her sense of gratitude for his restoration, she feasted all the boys in London on the sweep’s holiday – May-day. Of course, there is not an atom of foundation for such a story, but practical philanthropy was then so unusual, that a reason had to be found for its observance. After her death the following verses were written:

“And is all pity for the poor sweeps fledSince Montagu is numbered with the dead?She who did once the many sorrows weep,That met the wanderings of the woe-worn sweep!Who, once a year, bade all his griefs depart,On May’s sweet morn would doubly cheer his heart!Washed was his little form, his shirt was clean,On that one day, his real face was seen.His shoeless feet, now boasted pumps, and new.The brush, and shovel, gaily held to view!The table spread, his every sense was charmed,And every savoury smell his bosom warmed;His light heart joyed to see such goodly cheer.And much he longed to taste the mantling beer:His hunger o’er – the scene was little heaven —If riches thus can bless, what blessings might be givenBut she is gone! none left to soothe their grief,Or, once a year, bestow their meed of beef!”

One instance, only, of the hard life of these little ones, will I give, and then pass on to pleasanter themes.

Morning Herald, October 1, 1802: “Great Marlborough Street. Wednesday, an interesting examination took place at this office, relative to a male child, about eight years old, charged to have been kidnapped by the foreman of Mrs. Bridges, a chimney-sweeper, in Swallow Street. It was stated by Mrs. Wilson, of No. 5 in the same street, that, on Saturday last, she was dreadfully alarmed by the cry of murder, and the screams of the child at Mrs. B.’s, which induced her to run into the house, where she found the child stripped, and the prisoner unmercifully beating him with two switches, or small sticks. She remonstrated with him, and demanded by what authority he so cruelly treated the child, as it was well known it had been inveigled from the street, and unlawfully detained by them. The prisoner threatened to strike the witness, who, nevertheless, persisted in taking away the child, and did actually take it to the workhouse, informing the committee there of the particulars, and the prisoner, in consequence, was indicted.

“The child, itself, told a very artless and moving tale of its own sufferings. The prisoner, it appears, used to strip him naked, and flog him in the dust cellar, to make him go up the chimney, to which, it seems, he had an utter aversion. When in the chimney, he was urged to proceed by the prisoner having a stick, at the top of which was fastened a pin, with which he goaded the poor infant; at other times he would make the poor child descend into vaults, and used other cruelties too shocking for recital. On inquiry at the workhouse, the child discovered that his father is a smith by trade, a poor man, with six children, living near Sloane Street. Its parents had used every means to discover their child, and, at length found him in the workhouse. The prisoner was committed to Tothill Fields Bridewell; and we suppose that Mrs. Bridges, as soon as she can safely leave her bed, will also be brought up to answer this charge.”

In 1803, if not before, there was in existence an “Association for Improving the Situation of Infant Chimney Sweepers,” of which John Julius Angerstein, Esq. (whose collection of pictures founded the National Gallery), was the chairman.

May-day was also sacred to another class of early morning workers – the Milkmaids. Curiously enough, the carriage and delivery of milk – by no means a light task, whether looked at from the distance walked, or the load carried – was entirely in the hands of women, strapping country wenches, principally recruited from Wales. The cows were kept in hovels in, and near, London, and a “milkmaid’s” daily life began at from 4 to 6 a.m. when the cows had to be milked; they then delivered the milk at the various houses until near ten. Then there were the dairy vessels to wash, and at noon, the cows again to be milked.

The delivery of milk again occupied them till nearly 6 p.m., when they had to wash up all cans, &c., for the morning. In 1808 it was reckoned that about 8,500 cows were kept in London and its vicinity; one cowkeeper at Islington owning between 800 and 900 cows. It is sad to read, however, in 1804, that “Milk is sold at fourpence per quart, or fivepence for a better sort; yet the advance of price does not insure its purity, for it is generally mixed in a great proportion with water, by the retailers before they leave the milk houses. The adulteration of the milk, added to the wholesale cost, leaves an average profit of cent. per cent., to the vendors of this useful article. Few retail trades are exercised with equal gains.”

Following the milkwoman, would come the early Baker calling out “Hot loaves!” and ringing a bell: he would appear on the scene between 8 and 9 a.m., selling his rolls at one, or two, a penny – in winter he added, or substituted, muffins and crumpets.

Then, too, for breakfast, would be heard, either from male, or female, lips, the cry of “Water cresses!” which were sold in small bunches a penny each, or three for twopence. In those days, they were to be found growing wild in the ditches near London, and many a weary tramp of seven or eight miles, before breakfast, of a morning, did the sellers have, in order to get them fresh. There was generally a supply at Covent Garden Market – grown for sale; but these were considered inferior in flavour to the wild ones.

From breakfast time, the cries of the miscellaneous dealers in small wares became general, and hardly any can claim pre-eminence, unless it be on a Good Friday – when the old pagan crossed cakes were vended, and evidently as much relished by the young folks as now. “Baking, or boiling apples” were sold by women, a charcoal stove accompanying their barrow, so that their customers might have them hot, and luscious. Then, too, might be seen a man with band-boxes, carried on either end of a pole, which rested on his shoulder. From 6d. to 3s. was their price; whilst boxes of slight deal, with a lock and key, might be purchased from 3s. 6d. to 6s. 6d. These boxes were of home manufacture, and gave employment to many industrious families.