A NIGHT 
 
 WITH THE CHARTISTS/ 
 
 FROST, ™LIAMS, and JONES. 
 
 A NAERATIYE OF ADYENTUHES 
 
 IN MON^lODTUSUiSE. 
 
 “ Hie incidents deeply inti eti g d tlo jh strange, yet not more strange 
 than true.” 
 
 LONDON: ' 
 
 W. M. CLARK, 17, Warmek Lane; Paternoster Roiv; CLEATE, 1, Shoe 
 Lane, Fleet Street: 
 
 AIL nooKSEtMas. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The following extraordinary narration of adventures may appear to 
 ordinaiy readers as bordering too much on the marvellous, to be easily 
 ■ credited. But a reference to the diurnal press of the period, and but more 
 especially to the “Times” Newspaper, of November the 12th, 1839, or to the 
 published report oftheMonmouflishire State Trials, by Messrs. Butter worth 
 & Co., Fleet Street, in 1840, will fiilly show, that nothing but well proved 
 facts, and veritable occurrences, are here related; in fact, such reference 
 will prove them considerably less romantic even than the account given 
 by the usually business-like reporter of the “ Times.” 
 
 The narrative was written at the especial request of several of the narra¬ 
 tor’s friends—^then too far removed from the scene of action to be cognizant 
 (as far as their friend was concerned) of the memorable occurrences which 
 took place at Newport, on the night of the 3rd and the morning of the 4th 
 of November, 1839, by the Chartist Insurrectionists. The Editor, with a 
 desire to show the folly of such fool-hardy attempts; and to point out, (o 
 how much suffering, annoyance, and danger, innocent persons may be sub¬ 
 jected—has obtained permission of the Author to lay before the public on 
 its eighth anniversary, the adventures he encountered during a mght with 
 the Chartists in Monmouthshire, headed by Frost, Williams, and Jones. 
 
 London, November, 1847. 
 
A NIGHT WITH THE CHARTISTS, IN 1839 
 
 “ Truth is strange, stranger than fiction.” 
 
 Pew of the reading public can have forgotten the insane attempt at insur¬ 
 rection made by the Chartkls in Monmouthshii’e, at the latter part of the 
 year 1839, when a body of misguided men, many thousands in 
 number, led by three persons, whose names have so frequently of 
 late been before the public, namely. Frost, William, and Jones, were dis- 
 comfitted, and totally dispersed by a small detachment of the 45th regiment, 
 amounting to only twenty-eight men, at the Westgate Inn, at Newport, in 
 Monmouthshii-e. 
 
 The outbreak was to many a memorable one—to too many a fatil one— 
 to myself a fearful one; and, but for au irregularity in the legal proceedings, 
 would have been to the three leaders, a terrible and an awful one—they 
 were all three condemned to Deaf/t; and, though their lives were spared, they 
 are doomed (unless her Majesty mercifully shorten the period) to drag out 
 the remainder of their days in the penal settlements of South Australia. 
 
 It is not my intention in this article to chronicle the incidents of that 
 absurd conspiracy, or to trace the causes which led to its ridiculous, though 
 melancholy, termination; but, to render the adventure about to be narrated 
 more fuUy understood, it is necessary to glance at a few of the facts in con¬ 
 nexion with its history; the more so that time has now softened down the 
 angry feelings, and rubbed off the asperities of temper, then engendered by 
 that most ridiculous attempt at revolution. 
 
 Mr. John Frost was well known to, and much respected by, me; and, up 
 to the time of his becoming a delegate to the Chartist Convention, I was not 
 only on friendly terms, but in political agreement with him, both of us 
 inclining to what was then considered the Eadical side of Whiggism,novr the 
 politics of the majority. When Mr. Frost became publicly a lecturer on, 
 and a supporter of, Chartism (though our social intimacy continued), our 
 
A KIGHT WITH THE CHARTISTS. 
 
 political agreement was disrupted; so much so, that on many occasions I 
 publicly opposed, not only what llr. Frost advocated, but also the sentiments 
 of his friend Yincent, as well as those of Jones. Of Zephaniali Williams, I 
 hnew but little; simply that, he being a pubhcan, and myself a brewer, I had 
 merely a eo/nmcraoZ hnowledge of him. 
 
 With William Jones it was different: on my first acquaintance with him, 
 
 I found that he possessed considerable mechanical ingenuity and tact, and, in 
 consequence, occasionally employed him; a farther acquaintance proved him 
 to be a man of more than common-place talent in his rank of life; and, being 
 a member of a philanthropic society to which he also belonged, I took some 
 interest in his well-being; and when I found that he had joined the Chartists 
 I did aU I could (as did many others) to detach him from what I considered 
 a dangerous party. Finding, however, that, although he received my re- 
 monstamces -with respect and attention, he still persisted in connecting 
 himself with the Chartists, and became a public lectm-er in favoiu- of that 
 political creed : I tried harsher means~l assisted in causing his suspension 
 from office in our benevolent society. That not succeeding, his friends (many 
 of them) went further: they ceased to hold converse or communication 
 with him, and no longer recognised him as an acqu.aintance. 
 
 These observations would be unnecessary, but that I shall have presently 
 to mention an incident that, under these circumstances, redounds highly to 
 the unfortunate man’s credit. Previous to the outbreak I had been con¬ 
 nected irirhour parish as guardian of the poor, and was one of the committee 
 of inspectors of police; and stood in the relative position just stated with the 
 three great leaders of the Chartist movement. Frost, Williams, and Jones. 
 
 The morning of Sunday, the 3rd of November, 1839, was “ushered in 
 with clouds,” promising a wet day. The weather does not always keep its 
 promise in this respect—but on this occasion it did most faithfully—it turned 
 out a regular drenching v:et day —and what appeared worse, a wet night too; 
 the sequel will shew, however, that the wet that night not only saved my 
 life, but, most likely, the lives of hundreds of others also. 
 
 On the morning of this eventful day, I started from Pontypool with a 
 neighbour, in my gig, for Newport, on my way to Cardiff, in Glamorgan¬ 
 shire, to visit an invalid sister. On my arrival at Newport (ten miles on 
 my journey) failing to get other conveyance on to Cardiff, and the horse’s 
 shoulder showing symptoms of being galled, I was compelled to ride him 
 the rest of the way (twelve miles) to Carffiff. On aniving there, I was a second 
 time wet through. (I had changed pai’t of my clothes before, at NewTC^i't)- Again 
 I got my clothes dried, paid my visit, and returned in the same way, in the 
 evening, to Newport; again wet through. During the process of once more 
 drying my dress, I was informed that the authorities of Newport had received 
 information that the Chartists, thousands strong, were coming down that 
 night to attack Newport, led by Frost, Williams, and Jones. On hearing 
 this, as soon as possible, I repaired to the Westgate Inn, where I found Sir 
 Thomas Phillips (then Mr. Phillips) the Mayor, with the military and alarge 
 force of speciffi constables. The Mayor assured me the report was to be 
 relied on, and advised me not to proceed home. 
 
A NIGHT WITH THE CHAUTISTS. 
 
 1 - 
 
 
 The cry of “ The Chartists are coming,” like the cry of “Wolf,” had so 
 often been given before, that I turned a deaf ear to the Mayor's kind recom¬ 
 mendation, ordered my gig, and, with my friend, started for Pontypool! 
 Would we had not!! We proceeded slowly, in consequence of the 
 horse’s galled shoulder, for above six miles, when it was evidently 
 becoming worse; so much so, that after considerable jibbing the horse 
 fairly stood still, and would not proceed farther. The Cock Inn at Gross-ij- 
 ceilog, kept by a customer of mine, being close at hand, we determined on 
 leaving the poor brute there, and walking the remainder of the distance 
 (four miles) home. We saw the horse properly attended to, and set off per 
 turnpike-road, on foot, for Pontypool, regardless of the reportsThat the 
 Chartists were coming. We reckoned, however, without our host ,—they 
 came! We had reached the great oak at the Race Farm, within about 
 three miles and a half of home, when we suddenly heard the heavy tread of 
 a multitude of feet, and, ere we could exchange a question and answer, were 
 surrounded by hundreds, perhaps thousands, of armed men; for the night 
 tvas so pitchy dark, that the eye could not penetrate the gloom a single yard 
 in advance. The first words I heard were from a voice which I fancied I 
 knew (and it appears I was right in my conjecture; it was the unhappy 
 man who first fell in front of the Westgate Inn, at Newport, on the Monday 
 morning), uttering, with military authority, the command, “Jfalt.'” He then 
 demanded my name and business, and also my companion’s; on my men¬ 
 tioning who I was, there was an evident sensation, whispering, and commu¬ 
 nicating around us. On this, he demanded if we were armed; and, not¬ 
 withstanding he was answered in the negative, we were instantly ordered to 
 be searched, during the performance of which ceremony (not over gently 
 performed) I addressed the leader, stating that I was certain I was perfectly 
 well known to him, and to most of the assembled throng, and that, if any 
 violence were committed on the persons of my jfriend or myself, he would 
 be held responsible. The answer was,—“ Hold your tongue; obey orders, 
 and you’ll be taken care of; offer resistance, or attempt to escape, and it 
 will he the worse for you" He then ordered four pikemen to take possession 
 of, and guard, the yjWsoncra; which, to their credit be iksaid, they did most 
 carefully ; and, in addition to the four pikemen, two rough and determined 
 fellows, with pistols, took me under their especial care and protection, and 
 never left my side for hours. 
 
 I knew every turning, lane, and bye-road between Pontypool and New¬ 
 port. My business,for years, tookme every week, sometimes twice or thrice, 
 down to Newport, and that, too, by all the roads wherever a house in my 
 business existed; so that the bearings of all the turnings were as familiar to 
 me as if I had made a regular survey of the country. I, in consequence 
 occasionally cast a furtive glance down any avenue where I knew there was 
 a chance of a run for it; but I was always foiled. The fellows with the 
 pistols seemed to read my intentions by the turning of my head, for it was 
 too dark to' see my face; and when I did look down a lane, I was reminded 
 in terms the most gross and disgusting, that if I even looked aside again I 
 should have a bullet through my head. During this time, we made 
 several halts, and it was evident that there were communications being 
 
A KIGHT WITS THE CHARTISTS. 
 
 made between ourpartj- and some one in the rear; which I have since learned 
 ivas with Jones. 
 
 And here let me do justice to that misguided man ; two years aftei' my 
 having witnessed the awful ceremony of sentence of death being passed on 
 him and his co-leaders, by the late Lord Chief Justice Tindal (and never 
 was that dreadful and awM duty performed mth more solemnity and truly 
 Christian feeling than was evinced on the occasion by that great and good 
 man), I was informed by one of Jones’s friends, who was no doubt of his 
 part}', that, though then in the rear of the section of which he had the com¬ 
 mand, he was speedily informed of my capture; and,that, on hearing it, he 
 instantly forwarded instructions to the front that I was by no means to be 
 allowed to escape, hd that no violence teas to he offered to my person. I 
 have no doubt the first part of his order had reference to my,' connexion, 
 before alluded to, with the authorities of Pontypool, fancying I might be 
 there for information ; but his care for my personal s^ety must have 
 been induced by kinder and nobler feelings,— a remembrance of my friend¬ 
 ship ill past days. Had I been aivare of this act of his, at the trial, he 
 should most certainly have had the advantage of its being given as evidence 
 in his favour. But to return to my narrative. 
 
 In this way we were marched (in that dark and dismal night, with the 
 mysterious tramp, or rather the plash, of thousands of feet about and behind 
 us—^the very uncertainty of the numbers making the mystery more fearful), 
 in the direction of Newport. When we reached the Marshes, a series of low, 
 flat meadows, ivithin a few hundred yards of the turnpike-gate of that name, 
 and within about a mile of the town itself, a halt was ordered, to wait, as it 
 appeared, the coming up of those in the rear. Knotving that the brook 
 which runs in a zig-zag course through the Marshes, must, from the quantity 
 of rain that had fallen, be flooded, and being well acquainted, even in the 
 dark, tvith the old roadtvhich lies immediately beyond it; having confidence 
 in my swimming; and, above all, having been told a few minutes before that 
 the prisoners were to be armed and placed in the front of the forces, as the 
 insurgents entered Newport; I made up my mind to make an effort here to 
 get away from my vigilant guards. I addressed the same silent, cold, almost 
 Avordless individual tvho was evidently the leader of the van, for permission 
 to cross the hedge, assigning a reason for the request; his answer was curt, 
 —“ Yes, to the hedge.” I took advantage of the permission, and immediately, 
 instead of stopping at the hedge, leaped over the fence; butjTmfortunately, 
 found myself half immersed in the water of the ditch, which I had calcu¬ 
 lated endearing; it was nearly proving a fatal leap to me ! and, as I have 
 since been informed by the solicitor who conducted Jones’s defence, would 
 have been my last leap, but for the slipperiness of the bank. The moment 
 I leaped, one of my guards, guessing my intention, levelled his pike, and 
 made a lunge at me with all his might, but, providentially, from the 
 cause stated, his foot slipped, and I escaped by a miracle from being pierced 
 through the body by his murderous weapon. But my danger was not yet 
 passed; on perceiving that the pike had missed me, an incarnate fiend 
 
A, NIGHT WITH THE CHARTISTS. 
 
 sprung to the hedge, and, with imprecations the most horrible, pointed a 
 rifle at my head, exclaiming that he would draw the first trigger, shed the 
 first blood, and blow out my brains. The cold rifle barrel touched my 
 cheek; I moved it on one side with my hand; I heard the rufiian’s horrid 
 exclamation—the click of the cocking of the hammer—of its falling on the 
 nipple of the lock—and I thought it was all over with me! 
 
 It was rather astonishing, that though all this occupied only a second or 
 two, I never lost my presence of mind. I said to the villian, “ for Heaven’s 
 sake don’t both shoot and drown me.” Fortunately the rain had wetted his 
 powder, his gun did not go off; and thus was I again providentially rescued 
 from what appeared inevitable assassination. Several of the insurgents then 
 crossed the hedge, and forced me back, at the point of their pikes, into the 
 road; and I was again a prisoner. 
 
 After waiting some time in that heavy rain, my clothes now perfectly 
 saturated with water, and besmeared with mud; shivering with cold, and 
 surrounded by reckless and desperate men who had just attempted my life 
 —we were joined by the party expected, and which I understood rvas ac¬ 
 companied by Jones; but if that was so, he studiously kept out of oui’ sight, 
 for neither my friend or seif saw, or heard him, during the whole of that 
 fearful night. The party were now ordered to march, and we proceeded to 
 the turnpike-gate. On our arrival there, we, the unhappy prisoners, wei'e 
 thrust into a cow-shed on the opposite side of the road, and found ourselves 
 more than ancle-deep in accumulated filth, impossible to sit, and most 
 miserable to stand. We could hear, from the voices, that we were still 
 guarded by the same worthies who had exercised such vigilance over us from 
 the first: and thus we remained for nearly half an hour. The voices ceased, 
 and one of the party who had been hovering about us during the night, and, 
 whenever he had an opportunity, attending close to my fellow prisoner 
 —entered the hovel. (I learned afterwards that he had been trying all the night 
 ■to obtain the liberation of my companion, to whom he was known.) He very 
 kindly enquired if he could do anything for us. I instantly begged him, for 
 God’s sake, to get us out of that beastly place, and to remove us, if possible, 
 to the. gate-house, where, at least, we might get ourselves warmed. He 
 promised to use his best endeavours; and, after a few minutes absence, 
 returned with the desired permission. We were immediately removed, 
 guarded as before, and soon found ourselves in the midst of the poor mis¬ 
 guided, miserable creatures, who thought themselves capable of revolution¬ 
 izing an einphe. They had taken forcible possession of the turnpike 
 gate-house; some of them had blackened faces, the soot partly washed 
 off by the rain—some were disguised with strange dresses—some with their 
 faces covered; but all, woefully wet, wearied, cold and comfortless. Never 
 shall I forget the kindness, or the astonishment of poor old Mills, the gate¬ 
 keeper, when he saw my condition, and was told that I was a prisoner to the 
 ruffians who had taken possession of his dwelling. I had been long known 
 to the old man, and had gained his good opinion by some little acta of kind¬ 
 ness which I had rendered him. He was much excited on seeing me, so 
 
10 
 
 ANIGHT WITH THE CHAfiTISTS. 
 
 mnch so, that the kind old fellow cried and condoled mth me; got me water 
 to wash the dirt from my face; procured me a dry pair of stockings; and, 
 apologising for having nothing in the house to give me to drink, proffered, 
 for the purpose of wanning me (as he said), to fill me a pipe of tobacco. 
 /moked it! yes, in that company, under the aufful circumstances that then 
 environed me, I smoked a pipe! It did warm me —and perhaps never was 
 a pipe smoked with greater gusto than was the short, blackened, and often- 
 used pipe that I smoked on that memorable occasion. I accepted the well- 
 darned old pair of woollen stockings, too, from the good old fellow; and a coni- 
 lort they were to my wet and wearied feet. I know not if he be still alive, if 
 he be, God prosper him in this world; if not, may he be rewarded for 
 his kindness, in another and a better one. But to proceed. About this time, 
 messengers were mysteriously p.issing and repassing, in and out of the toll¬ 
 house, and it was erident something of moment had, or was about to occur. 
 Jiumbers were called over and answered to; when a whispering took place, 
 and we were ordered to be removed to an empty room above stains. In 
 addition to our former guard, a ruffian with a rifle—who I now recognised as 
 the same man who had recently attempted to blow' out my brains in the 
 Marshes—^was added. He took up his position at the head of the stairs of 
 the little appartment which formed our prison. This reinforcement to our 
 guards was certainly not the most agreeable to me, for the miscreant had 
 just boasted that the next trigger he pulled on me should be more success¬ 
 ful than the last, for that he had taken care to provide himself with dmj 
 powder, had reloaded his piece, and was now ready for me. (It may not 
 be out of place to mention here, that whilst in the room below', so wet w'as 
 the night, so saturated the men, that many of them emptied their pockets of 
 handfuls of gunpowder in a state of semi-liquidity). How strange is human 
 nature! Surrounded by blood-thirsty men; guarded by fellows armed with 
 deadly weapons; particularly the ruffian who had an hour or two before 
 attempted, and since had threatened my life; shut up in an empty room, 
 without a chance of escape; wet through: shivering with cold; not a brick 
 even for a pillow, or a mat for a coverlid; I stretched my wearied limbs on 
 the bareboards and slept! yes, slept, gentle reader, for near an hour ! I was 
 awoke, shivering as in an ague, and leaving a watermark impression of my 
 figure on the floor, by the stem voices of our guards, and by the mild one 
 of my kind friend, who had watched over me while I slept, informing me that 
 orders had been given to march! 
 
 Of course we had nothing for it but to obey; and now came, with me, the 
 great difficulty; for, on changing my stockings, the gate-keeper had placed 
 my shoes near the tire to dry, and they had, in consequence, shrunk in size, 
 and, from the excessive fatigue I had undergone, my feet had swollen con¬ 
 siderably ; so that I found it impossible, with all my eftbrts, to get on my shoes; 
 the consequence was, that I had to re-commence, through dark lanes, over 
 rough roads, wet to the skin, shivering with cold, with blistered feet, and 
 without shoes, our dreary march. 
 
 It was a dreary march! the early part of our journey was comparative 
 
A NIGH! WITH THE CHARTISTS. 
 
 11 
 
 comfort to this part of our weary way. Frequently halting, for (as it ap¬ 
 peared) instructions, I found we were not going direct to Newport, but were 
 wending our course by Pen-y-lan, on the road to the Gefn and Eisea. At the 
 former place we again halted, and to oivr great gratification obtained some 
 refreshment and the comfort of a warm fire, at the beer shop of Mnd Mrs. 
 
 I had already discovered the advantage of showing—or at any rate of as¬ 
 suming—a confident and courageous bearing; and here, whilst my guards 
 were discussing suudi'v pots of double X and rations of bread and cheese, I 
 entered into a discussion with the fiercest of them on the “ Points of the 
 Charter." This, and perhaps my having paid for a few quarts of beer, so 
 far softened my stern sentinels, that the friend who had obtained our libera¬ 
 tion from the cow-house was allowed, at my request, to assist me in getting 
 on my shoes, which, after some trouble, and slashing them with my penknife, 
 ■was effected. During this process my assistant rvhispered that Mr. Frost 
 rvas at the Welsh Oak, a short distance ahead, and that our party were 
 waiting for his orders to join him there. I instantly saw the advantage of 
 this information, and, slipping a piece of coin into his hand, I begged him 
 to announce to Mr. Frost, as soon as possible, the situation I was in. Again 
 we were ordered to advance; and, at about seven o’clock in the morning, we 
 reached the Welsh Oak On oiu arrival there we tvere at once taken to the 
 tap-room, still guarded as before. Having proved the advantage of beer 
 amongst our guards at the Oefn, we again had recourse to the same innocent 
 bribery, and ordered immediately a copious quantity to be supphed them. 
 Here also our mysterious friend was true to his promise; he had found Mr. 
 Frost, who now entered the room with him. He looked unusually pale, hag- 
 gazed, much fatigued, and evidently dispirited. On entering he Immediately 
 inquired “ Where is Mr. B-?” With unfeigned joy, I started up, pre¬ 
 
 sented myself to him, and answered, “ Here I am, sir." He then asked, 
 evidently sm-prised at seeing me, “ What had brought me there?” I re¬ 
 ferred him for an answer (pointing to them) to the amiable party who had 
 taken such especial care of us during the night, not forgetting to inform 
 him of their kind intentions and practices towards me in particular. He 
 was evidently annoyed; and, after sternly glancing round him, he turned to 
 me, and said, with a milder look and manner than he had before assumed, 
 “ Sir, I respect you as a friend and as a gentleman, but I hate your politics; 
 you are discharged.” “ And my friend of course?’’ I asked. “ Who is 
 yoim friend?” he demanded. I told him. “Yes, and your friend," was his 
 rejoinder. 
 
 I cordially thanked him, and requested an escort through the assembled 
 thousands, lest other parties might again detain us. This Mr, Frost imme¬ 
 diately ordered. 
 
 It was now day-break, and we were conducted through hosts of drenched, 
 begrimed, fatigued, and many apparently frightened men, who lined the 
 road for a considerable distance, without let, hindrance, or molestation. 
 
12 
 
 A NIGHT WITH THE CHAETISTS, 
 
 This party was the section immediately imder Jlr. Frost’s command, 
 waiting for the other divisions to join them, and consisted of several thou¬ 
 sands of men, nearly all armed, some ivith pikes, fixed on well-made handles 
 or shafts, some more roughly made; crude spears, formed of rod iron 
 sharpened at one end, and tamed into a loop at the other as a handle; 
 guns, muskets, pistols, coal mandrills (a sharp double-pointed pick-axe 
 used in cutting coals), clubs, scythes, crow-bars; and, in fact, any and 
 every thing that they could lay their hands on. The whole presented one of 
 the most heterogeneous collection of instalments and munitions of war that 
 ever were brought into the field to compete rvith disciplined and well-armed 
 forces. It was folly; it was frensy; it was sheer insanity; downright mad¬ 
 ness! 
 
 As soon as vre had passed the last phalanx of these misguided and unfor¬ 
 tunate men, this mighty mass of all but madmen, we deemed it safest to 
 leave the high road and fly to the mountains. We took the nearest coiu’se, 
 regai'dless of bridges, boats, brakes or brambles, and made straight for the 
 hills. A word here in favour of my d-demni friend, Mr. Frost: his op¬ 
 portune interference in my behalf most likely saved my life, and I am grateful 
 for it. Had the party by whom we were fii'st made prisoners pursued their 
 original plan of entering Nen-port at the north-eastern end of the town si¬ 
 multaneously with Frost's and Mrilliams’s entrance by the two great approaches 
 Ifom the west and north-west, there is little doubt (Jones not having ap¬ 
 peared) that the threat of placing us with muskets on our shoulders in the 
 ftront ranks would have been earned out: this Mr. Frost could not have 
 helped; he would not have been with that section; but, when the party 
 having us in custody joined Mr. Frost’s division, had he not so kindly inter¬ 
 posed his authority, and so fortunately set us at liberty when he did, the 
 same fate would have probably befallen us, and we might have been num¬ 
 bered with those (and innocently too) who lost their lives on that melancholy 
 morning. 
 
 This exercise oi his authority in om' favour—an act which probably 
 saved our lives—was luged by the Judge in summing up to the jury, as 
 much in favour of Mr. Frost’s hmnanity, however it might tell against 
 him, as proving him to have supreme command over the insurgent forces, 
 The same learned authority also pointed out other parts of my testimony 
 which favoured the general character of Mr. Frost, as a husband, as a 
 father, and as a fiiend. Yes; it'was a fortunate thing for me on that occa¬ 
 sion, that I teas on friendly terms with j\Ii-. Frost. It was a more fortu¬ 
 nate thing for me that Mr. Frost did not forget our friendship on that 
 perilous occasion; and, whilst memory holds her seat, I shall ever remember 
 with gratitude his interfei'ence in my favom’ on that eventful morning. 
 There are few men, who, when by theft own acts they have committed 
 themselves for life or tor death, rvould be so considerate for the safety of 
 others, more especially when that party and themselves are in an antago¬ 
 nistic position to each other, as w'e were in regard to Chartism. Mr. 
 Frost knew full well, that the steps which he had taken preriously and 
 
14 
 
 A SIOHT WITH THE CHAETISTS. 
 
 on tiat decisive morning were a series of overt acts against the law 
 of the land, and were in fact acts of treason. He knew also that on libera¬ 
 ting myself and friend, he was supplying the country with evidence of that 
 treason; yet the kindly feelings and humanity of Mr. Frost towards me 
 were paramount to aU selfish feelings: he committtd himself-^but he 
 emaneipaied me. 
 
 Soon after eight o’clock in the morning the two fugitives found them¬ 
 selves resting Iheir wearied limbs at the foot of Twym-larLwm, a tu¬ 
 mulus at the south-western end of a range of magnificent mountains whicli 
 terminate near the little town of Eisca on the Ebbw. There, with the 
 mountain for their altar—^with Heaven’s canopy for their temple; they 
 found themselves in safety offering, with gratefd hearts, thanksgiving to 
 their God for their deliverance from danger and from death! 
 
 The day opened in loveliness and splendour; it seemed as if it were a July 
 day adjourned, to cheer the more melancholy month of November. The sun 
 shone outmostbrilliantly, and his slanting rays impinging on the villages and 
 houses, which a few hom-s before we had passed in darkness, in misery, and 
 in dread, in the neighbourhood of the High Cross, the Cefn, and the Welsh 
 OaJ:, reflected back his beams with a softened refhlgence as if no crime or 
 commotion had ever been there. Neivport, too, we could pai'tly see. AYe 
 watched to see the expected fires blaze forth: we listened for the booming of 
 the guns—but no! we neither saw nor heard either, and we hoped that 
 the infatuated men had paused in their mad career, and had returned 
 to their mountain homes. Alas! vain were our hopes,—at that very mo¬ 
 ment the fatal conflict was going on—at that very moment several of the mis¬ 
 guided men were being hurried into eternity. They had, by this time, attacked 
 the AYestgate Inn, and the handfiil of soldiers in self-defence were compelled 
 to return their fire and repulse then attack; and, whilst my friend and my¬ 
 self, so recently delivered from danger, were enjoying this glorious morning— 
 doubly glorious to us, after that perilous and awful night, the unhappy 
 authors of our captivity, were many of them rolling in the streets of New¬ 
 port, in the last quivering agonies of a violent and sanguinary death. The 
 romance of otu adventure was now ended. After many restings on the 
 purple heather of those lovely hills to ease om’ wearied bodies—and weary 
 indeed we were—^v.-e reached home in saftety. A warm bath relaxed our 
 stiffened limbs, and a few hours sleep gave us back our strength and ac¬ 
 tivity; and, though with me it has entailed a chronic rheumatism which will 
 most likely last me for life, we suffered less than might' have been expected 
 after such severe fatigue as we endured on that fearful and never-to-be-for¬ 
 gotten night. 
 
 Here let me do justice to my kind friend, who was my fellow prisoner and 
 co-sufferer on the occasion. He was a mild and unobtrusive man, and 
 amongst the Chartists excited no suspicion of being there for sinister pur¬ 
 poses. (Not so with me—they fancied I had an object in being there.) He, 
 doubtless would have been allowed to proceed home, but for his being taken 
 
A NIfiHT WITH THE C^TISTS. 
 
 IS 
 
 in company with me; in fact, he afterwards informed me that he had 
 several opportunities during the night to escape. But no; he availed him¬ 
 self of neither, but, in the true spirit of pui’e iriendship, preferred mixing 
 his fortunes with mine, and stuck to me until the last. 
 
 During oim toDing across the mountains, he had frequently to bear nearly 
 my whole weight on his arm, to enable me to make my way towards home. 
 But for his aid and presence, a very different result to me might have been 
 the winding up of that dread adventure. 
 
 I immediately, when sufficiently rested, wrote a note to, and communicated 
 personally with, the Lord-Lieutenant of the County (Capel Hanbury Leigh, 
 Esq.), the particulars of what had occurred to us on the foregoing night. We 
 were, in consequence, sent for by the examining magistrates, and were bound 
 over in recognizances to give evidence in a case of life and death against our 
 personal friends and acquaintances. Painful as was the task, we did not 
 shrink from it. We gave our evidence faithfully, honestly, without “any¬ 
 thing extenuating or setting down aught in malice;” and, though the doing so 
 entailed commercial losses of a most ruinous nature on myself, and a great 
 falling off in the trade of my friend, rve only performed an incumbent duty 
 —a duty which we owed to ourselves, to our country, and to our God. 
 
 B. B. 
 
 PBIXTED BT W. M. CLARK, 10, RED UOX COURT, FLEET STREET, lOHDOH.