The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1839-04-23 00:00:00

BOTTLING A VOTER,

We quote the following Account of the proceedings, at
Preston, against Mr. Charles Rowland, from the Wigan
Gazette of Friday last. We are sorry that we are obliged to
abridge the report :
William Blommerly, the prosecutor, was then called, and
examined by Mr. Hulton. He said—l am a cotton-manu-
facturer and shopkeeper in Wigan. Recollect the election on
the 9th of March last. Was up about six or seven o'clock
in the morning. I was going to the Green Man, where I had
to get my breakfast. When I got there, I went further—to
old Mr. Wood's, the gardener.
The Chairman.—Speak up, sir.
Witness.—One at a time, gentlemen, if you please ; I can-
not answer five or six of you.
The Chairman.—Speak to me, so as I can hear you.
Witness.—Well then, I will.
Mr. Hulton.—What happened when you got to Mr.
Wood's ?

The witness looked straight at the chairman, and made no
reply to the question, which was repeated several times. At
length he was persuaded to answer the questions, and he coil-
tinned his evidence. When I was standing opposite to his
house, I saw one person come down an entry, and afterwards
two others, and afterwards five or six others. I turned me
round, and was immediately seized ; they dragged me along,
and said, " Pull away, boys, pull away." I went at the
speed of the mail coach, as near as I could guess. They took
me to Charles Kerfoot's, the Bowling-green House. There
I saw a parcel of bluffina.. I also saw Mr. Leech, and said,
" Thank God you are there." They kept me there, before a
red-hot roasting fire, with my top coat on, for more than a
quarter of an hour. (Laughter.) Then I heard a coach
come up, and forty or fifty persons put me into it. The house
was full of ruffians. They took me to Fowler's house. I
was held in the coach by two fellows. Rowland was in it,
and also M`Quade, and another person whom I knew very
well. Rowland collared me, and throttled me near to death.
I broke the windows, and they put down the blinds, because
their deeds were evil. They took me to Adlington's—to
Fowler's. I sat in the coach there about a minute, as near
as I can recollect, and they dragged me out by main force.
They put me in the front room, where there is a bow window.
I was looking for something to smash all I could. They then
put me into a little bit of a lock-up place, that would hold
half a dozen men, without fire. There were half a dozen or
a dozen with me ; then Rowland, Fowler, and Sutton came
in. Rowland said, " What a fine hunting day we had yes-
terday—oh ! what a fine hunting day we had." (Loud
laughter.) Rowland then left the room, leaving the other
two behind. Fowler was without his coat.
Mr. Hulton.—How was Sutton dressed?
Witness.—lt is not the dress I take notice of ; it is the
physyog—the face. (Laughter.)
Mr. Hulton.—Did they bring anything to you?
Witness.—Yes, I think they did; they brought in a great
smoke.

Mr. Hulton—Did they bring any liquor in ?
Witness—Yes, I believe they brought me some brandy and
water, but I durst not taste it for fear there should be some
of that stuff in.
The Chairman—What stuff?

Witness—The stuff they put in at Liverpool. I remained
there from three quarters of an hour to two hours, when I
saw a Scotchman from Wigan. When I did that, I began of
breaking the windows as hard as I could. [The witness
closed his fists, and worked them about like machinery, to
the great amusement of all present.]
Mr. Hulton—Will you tell me what you did?
Witness—Well, if you will sit down and take it comfortably
I will tell you, and lam sure it will amuse you. (Laughter.)
Mr. Hulton having taken his seat, the witness proceeded
to show how he broke the windows and furniture. I began,
said he, to crash away, and then, raising his voice, he called
out, I say, Mr. Thompson—l say, Mr. Thompson—l say,
Mr. Thompson—you must bring a great, and a very great
reinforcement, or I shall never get away. (To Mr. Hulton)
—Now, don't you think it very laughable ?
Mr. Hutton—No.

Witness—But if not to you, it is to me and my friends.
Then they took me out of that room up stairs, and where did
Igoto do you think ? They carried me into a dark nasty
closet—as dark as a dungeon ever was in this world. if I
should say as dark as hell, I should say true. Before I went
there the landlord wanted me to have breakfast. I said, No ;
I defy thee to persuade me to taste with thee, satan ! (Great
laughter.) I said this to myself, not to him.
Mr. Hulton—What did you say to Fowler?
Witness—Why, I told him the consequence of keeping me
there.

Mr. Hulton—What did you tell him ?
Witness—Why, I told him he was no gentleman, and he
did nothing but snarl at me. There was always two left with
me inside the work-loft, and a lot on the stairs. Two per-
sons, named M`Quade and Sutton, were left with me.
M'Quade dragged me across the room by the throat. Some
men came in and said I should catch it at four o'clock.
Mr. Hulton—Did you make a noise ?

Witness—Noise ! Yes, I think I did ; and I'll show you
what sort of noise I made.—[The witness then deliberately
turned up his coat-sleeves, and clapped his hands most vehe-
mently for a few minutes—he then looked to the top of the
court, opened his mouth as wide as possible, and shouted at
the top of his voice for a few minutes more, to the great as-
tonishment as well as amusement of the court.]
Mr. Hulton—Did you do this often?
Witness.—Did it often ! Why, I did it a thousand times.
At last I heard a carriage come with some of my friends, and
when they got in I said, " Here I am, my lads." (Laugh-
ter.) I then saw Sutton down on his back on the floor.
By Mr. Whigham for Fowler—What time in the morning
was it?

Witness—l know nothing about the morning. The ques-
tion was repeated, on which the witness said—How can I
tell? I saw no clock.

Mr. Whigham—Cannot you judge of the time about?
Witness—How can I judge of the time ? They did not
drive very fast, because the cause was bad, and they had a
heavy load—bad luggage. Did not see Fowler until he
came into the room to ask me if I would have some break-
fast. Fowler never pushed me or laid hands on me ; he
treated me very kindly.
By Mr. Wilkins, on behalf of Rowland—Do not know
what time,' got back. Knew it was before four o'clock, be-
cause the bells would ring at that time ; but there was no
ringing that day. Was up a little after four o'clock that
morning. Was invited to breakfast with other friends of Mr.
Ewart. Tjiere were three inside the chaise, and I was the
fourth. If they had gone with me fifty yards further, I
should have dropped down dead. Was just going to strike a
blow at a man's head when Rowland collared me, and fifty
seconds more would have finished me. I had the marks of
his hand on my throat for some days. The witness stated
that he had gone to the Ship, in Wigan, and requested the
landlord to put on his top-coat, in order that he might
see if he could recognise him. He had also requested him
to put on a hankerchief, which he declined to do. Mr. Hol-
land, the landlord of the ship, is about the same size as Row-
land. Knew Rowland before. Has seen him in Liverpool,
but never knew his name before. He also knew Sutton and
Fowler before, but not their names.

[The ludicrous manner in which the prosecutor gave his
evidence—the way in which he repeated the questions put to
him by his own counsel—the different attitudes he put him-
self in, are beyond description. Once or twice he fixed his
eyes on the chairman, and took not the slightest notice of
the repeated questions put to him by his counsel, and it was
only by the persuasions of his attorney that he was induced
to answer. Above all, the throwing his arms about like wind-
mill sails, and the bellowing noise he made, with his eyes
fixed on the ceiling of the court, was the most ludicrous scene
ever beheld in a court of justice.]
Mr. Wilkins addressed the jury in behalf of Rowlands.
His learned friend, Dr. Brown, had in good set terms ex-
pressed his regard for the liberty of the subject, but it ap-
peared to him (Mr. Wilkins) that if he Uad adopted the sug-
gestion of the chairman, he might have gained some credit
for the sincerity of his professions. The learned gentleman
complained loudly of the .conduct of the prosecutors, and of
the situation in which he was placed by their refusal to post-
pone the trial. He had been called from his bed that morn-
ing—he had bcen obliged to put into the hands of the court
an affidavit informal, because his client had no professional
advisers, and was, therefore, obliged to draw it up himself.
He (Mr. Wilkins) appeared there to defend his client, with-
out witnesses—without a brief—without instructions—and
without any other help to conduct the defence than what he
had gathered in the course of the proceedings. He had the
privilege of being present at the Wigan election, and heard
the speech of Mr. Ewart. Upon no portion of his public
conduct did he lay a greater stress than on the part he had
taken in securing the prisoners all the aid—and every possi-
ble privilege and advantage that the law could give them,
and he took credit to himself for the part which he had taken
in the prisoners' council bill. He (Mr. Wilkins) should
like Mr. Ewart to be present, in order that he might see
whether he would smile upon the conduct of those who con-
ducted the prosecution. He should like to ask him, whether
he would oompel a client to go to trial—aga.i..st whom not the
shadow of an imputation could rest—to give up all, he held
dear in life—having first of all been either shamefully or care-
lessly imposed upon or else wickedly and designedly misled.
The learned gentleman, then in eloquent terms, put it to the
jury, after witnessing the conduct of the prosecutor, who was
the only witness who spoke to his client taking part in the
proceedings, whether they could on such testimony really be-
lieve that he had anything whatever to do with the transaction.
His experience in the courts of justice was certainly not ex-
tensive, but in the course of that experience, he had never
seen such a maniac, nor such forbearance manifested by the
bench. He could safely entrust his case in their hands, con-
vinced that they would not convict on the evidence of such a
madman. No one could doubt that Blomerly was a sort of
monomaniac. Some get drunk with wine, but it was equally
true that some were drunk with passion. They all recollected
the amusing description given of Don Quixote, who was per-
fectly rational on all subjects save one, but the moment
knight errantry was mentioned, he forthwith fancied himself
a knight, and immediately attacked windmill sails. So it was
with the prosecutor. As a tradesman he might be perfectly
respectable, and quite capable of conducting his business, but
no sooner was the Wigan election named, and the names of
Ewart and Kearsley placed in juxta-position, than he imme-
diately becomes a Don Quixote, and attacks windmills di-
rectly. (Loud laughter.) The learned gentleman concluded
by expatiating on the hardship under which his client la-
boured by being precluded from calling witnesses.
The chairman summed up, and the jury, after a consulta-
tion of nearly two hours, acquitted all the defendants, to the
evident satisfaction of all present.

FUNERAL OF THE MURDERED POLICE-

OFFICER, DAVID BAILEY.

It became generally known on Friday morning that the
deceased constable, David Bailey, (who met his death in
Hanover-street, on Monday evening last, while in the execu-
tion of his duty, by being stabbed in the neck by Daniel
Cole, whom he had just seized for a similar attempt on the
life of his wife,) would be attended to the grave by a con-
siderable number of the force to which he was attached ;
and the interest excited to witness the melancholy procession
was naturally increased by the feelings of co-mingled horror
and regret which the tragical act that so suddenly terminated
his earthly existence still left fresh in the public mind.
The deceased, who was a respectable housekeeper in the
north end of Wolfe-street, Toxteth-park, is represented by
all his neighbours, and those who know him, as a quiet, well-
disposed, active, and intelligent man. He was but twenty-
eight years of age, and has left a wife, now pregnant, and in
a most distressed state of mind, and two children—the eldest
about two years old. All the families in the neighbourhood
manifested the deepest commiseration for the afflicted widow
in her bereavement,—which was first communicated to her a
few hours after-the death of her husband in the most feeling
and delicate manner by Mrs. Foster, the wife of Mr. Foster,
a respectable iiinkeeper, in the street, to whom the family
were known. '
Towards the hour when the funeral procession was appointed
to start, the street became thronged with anxious and com-
miserating spectators. At the door of the house stood a hand-
some hearse with four horses, and behind it a mourning
coach for the more immediate friends of the deceased. About
three o'clock the police constables who were to attend the
funeral—all the disposable force not on duty—Lcame up. The
fire-police were placed in front of the hearse, at the north end
of the street, and the others, much more numerous, marched
round by a parallel street, and formed in order behind the
body. In the rear walked the inspectors and other superior
officers of police, followed by Mr. Whitty, the superintendent
of the force. Besides the crowd in the street, the doors and
windows, as far as the eye could reach, were crowded with
spectators, and the whole assemblage, peaceable and anxious,
presented a scene of melancholy and affecting interest. The
frequent expressions of regret for the untimely fate of the
deceased, and of commiseration for hi 3 bereft family, did ho-
nour to the feelings of the poorest as well as the highest in,
the assemblage, and bore ample testimony to the consolatory.
fact, that, Iffnvever fearless of death the British people way

be in the hour of battle and of peril, there is a morality
amongst them, superadded to the law, that hedges around
and would protect the lives of our citizens, and which regards
with peeuliar abhorrence all resort to the insidious employ-
ment of deadly weapons.
Soon after three o'clock the coffin was placed in the hearse
by a party of the fire-police, and, the friends of the deceased
having taken their places in the coach, the procession moved
onwards. The streets, as it passed along, were crowded on
each side, as were many of the windows. The route taken
was from Wolfe-street into Hill-street, down Mill-street,
St. James's-place, St. James's-street, Park-lane, by the
south side of the Custom-house into Paradise-street, thence
up Church-street and Bold street, along Berry-street, and
up the top of Duke-street to the Mount Cemetery.
The appearance of the funeral procession was throughout
most respectable and imposing. The whole of the police were
in their best and uniform attire of blue. Those belonging to
the fire department with their keys appended to their bright
chains, headed the procession, and behind the hearse and
coach came the general body of police officers,—all marching
four deep, and forming a line little short of a quarter of a mile
in length. It was universally remarked, that a finer or more
respectable-looking body of men were never seen ; that, in
fact, they were an honor to the town that supported them,
and to the gentleman under whose able and active superin-
tendence they have become so efficiently organised.
The streets through which the funeral passed were much
crowded by spectators, and the upper part of Duke-street, and
the whole of the standing space round the entrance to the
cemetery, presented a dense mass of individuals of all ages
and degrees. Soon after four o'clock the hearse entered the
gateway. The fire-police marched round the chapel, and
formed an avenue or passage from the door to the top of the
inclined way to the cemetery. The body was carried into the
chapel, (a beautiful Grecian structure) followed by a consider-
able number of persons—and the service for the dead was read
by the Rev. Mr. Spencer. The whole of the ground, or rather
rock, round the building, was densely crowded, and some
fears were entertained lest any one should fall over the pre-
cipice on the south side. Precautions were, however, taken
by some of the police-officers, and happily no accident occur-
ed. The body was conveyed down the inclined and romantic
road to the cemetery on the shoulders of several of the fire-
police, and thence along the walk below, to its final resting-
place at the south end of the ground.
The day was fine and sunny, ancithe cemetery, in a deep
dell, and at all times beautiful, presented an appearance pe-
culiarly interesting. The crowd was immense, not only in the
ground, but at every point that overlooked it. All the walks,
as well as that along which the funeral proceeded, were
crowded to excess. The sloping walks or terraces running
along the catacombs on the east side, which is precipitous,
were filled like the galleries of a theatre, and probably not
fewer than from four to five thousand individuals gazed iipon
the procession towards its close. Policemen were stationed
on each side of the avenue, at short distances, through the
cemetery, to keep the way clear for the piocession, but such
was the respect shown, that not a word was required from them
even in expostulation, and they might be said to have become
part and parcel of the people around them.
The grave in which the remains of the deceased were de-
posited, is at the bottom of the inclined road into the cemetery,
at the south end, and on the right (or south) side, just before
it begins to turn. It is close to the walk, and about ten or
twelve yards to the north of the spot where crumbles the dust
of the equally ill-fated officer of police—lnspector loss. The
service at the grave was read by the reverend gentlnan who
officiated at the chapel, and concluded at a few minutes before
five o'clock. The anxiety to see the grave was intense ;it
appeared to be about twelve or fourteen fe"t deep, in, as pre-
vails throughout this cemetery, a dry sandy bottom.
After the interment, the police dispersed; but hundreds of
persons lingered on the grounds until night fall, conversing
on the untimely fate of David Bailey ; or moralising on the
interesting monuments of mortality that every where meet
the eye in this " bourne whence no traveller returns."
We undersand a subscription is in contemplation in behalf
of the widow and family of the deceased, and we doubt not,
were it originated but that that feeling of benevolence to
succour the distressed, which has ever characterised our town,
will again,be manifested to an extent commensurate with the
occasion.