The Blue Blanket—Mobs of the Seventeenth Century—Bowed Joseph.

The Edinburgh populace was noted, during many ages, for its readiness to rise in tumultuary fashion, whether under the prompting of religious zeal or from inferior motives. At an early time they became an impromptu army, each citizen possessing weapons which he was ready and willing to use. Thus they are understood to have risen in 1482 to redeem James III. from restraint in the Castle; for which service, besides certain privileges, ‘he granted them,’ says Maitland, ‘a banner or standard, with a power to display the same in defence of their king, country, and their own right.’ The historian adds: ‘This flag, at present denominated the Blue Blanket, is kept by the Convener of the Trades; at whose appearance therewith, ’tis said that not only the artificers of Edinburgh are obliged to repair to it, but all the artisans or craftsmen within Scotland are bound to follow it, and fight under the Convener of Edinburgh, as aforesaid.’ The Blue Blanket, I may mention, has become a sort of myth in Edinburgh, being magnified by the popular imagination into a banner which the citizens carried with them to the Holy Land in one of the Crusades—expeditions which took place before Edinburgh had become a town fit to furnish any distinct corps of armed men.[157]

When the Protestant faith came to stir up men’s minds, the lower order of citizens became a formidable body indeed. James VI., who had more than once experienced their violence, and consequently knew them well, says very naÏvely in his Basilicon Doron, or ‘Book of Instruction’ to his son: ‘They think we should be content with their work, how bad and dear soever it be; and if they be in anything controuled, up goeth the Blue Blanket!’

The tumults at the introduction of the Service-book, in 1637, need only be alluded to. So late as the Revolution there appears a military spirit of great boldness in the Edinburgh populace, reminding us of that of Paris in our own times: witness the bloody contests which took place in accomplishing the destruction of the papistical arrangements at the Abbey, December 1688. The Union mobs were of unexampled violence; and Edinburgh was only kept in some degree of quiet, during the greater part of that crisis, by a great assemblage of troops. Finally, in the Porteous mob we have a singular example of popular vengeance, wreaked out in the most cool but determined manner. Men seem to have been habitually under an impression in those days that the law was at once an imperfect and a partial power. They seem to have felt themselves constantly liable to be called upon to supplement its energy, or control or compensate for its errors. The mob had at that time a part in the state.

In this ‘fierce democracy’ there once arose a mighty Pyrrhus, who contrived, by dint of popular qualifications, to subject the rabble to his command, and to get himself elected, by acclamation, dictator of all its motions and exploits. How he acquired his wonderful power is not recorded; but it is to be supposed that his activity on occasions of mobbing, his boldness and sagacity, his strong voice and uncommonly powerful whistle, together with the mere whim or humour of the thing, conspired to his promotion. His trade was that of a cobbler, and he resided in some obscure den in the Cowgate. His person was low and deformed, with the sole good property of great muscular strength in the arms. Yet this wretch, miserable and contemptible as he appeared, might be said to have had at one time the command of the Scottish metropolis. The magistrates, it is true, assembled every Wednesday forenoon to manage the affairs and deliberate upon the improvements of the city; but their power was merely that of a viceroyalty. Bowed Joseph, otherwise called General Joseph Smith, was the only true potentate; and their resolutions could only be carried into effect when not inconsistent with his views of policy.

In exercising the functions of his perilous office, it does not appear that he ever drew down the vengeance of the more lawfully constituted authorities of the land. On the contrary, he was in some degree countenanced by the magistracy, who, however, patronised him rather from fear than respect. They frequently sent for him in emergencies, in order to consult with him regarding the best means of appeasing and dispersing the mob. On such occasions nothing could equal the consequential air which he assumed. With one hand stuck carelessly into his side, and another slapped resolutely down upon the table—with a majestic toss of the head, and as much fierceness in his little gray eye as if he were himself a mob—he would stand before the anxious and feeble council, pleading the cause of his compeers, and suggesting the best means of assuaging their just fury. He was generally despatched with a promise of amendment and a hogshead of good ale, with which he could easily succeed in appeasing his men, whose dismissal, after a speech from himself and a libation from the barrel, was usually accomplished by the simple words: ‘Now disperse, my lads!’

Joseph was not only employed in directing and managing the mobs, but frequently performed exploits without the co-operation of his greasy friends, though always for their amusement and in their behalf. Thus, for instance, when Wilkes by his celebrated Number 45 incensed the Scottish nation so generally and so bitterly, Joseph got a cart, fitted up with a high gallows, from which depended a straw-stuffed effigy of North Britain’s arch-enemy, with the devil perched upon his shoulder; and this he paraded through the streets, followed by the multitude, till he came to the Gallow Lee in Leith Walk, where two criminals were then hanging in chains, beside whom he exposed the figures of Wilkes and his companion. Thus also, when the Douglas cause was decided against the popular opinion in the Court of Session, Joseph went up to the chair of the Lord President as he was going home to his house, and called him to account for the injustice of his decision. After the said decision was reversed by the House of Lords, Joseph, by way of triumph over the Scottish court, dressed up fifteen figures in rags and wigs, resembling the judicial attire, mounted them on asses, and led them through the streets, telling the populace that they saw the fifteen senators of the College of Justice!

When the craft of shoemakers used, in former times, to parade the High Street, West Bow, and Grassmarket, with inverted tin kettles on their heads and schoolboys’ rulers in their hands, Joseph—who, though a leader and commander on every other public occasion, was not admitted into this procession on account of his being only a cobbler—dressed himself in his best clothes, with a royal crown painted and gilt and a wooden truncheon, and marched pompously through the city till he came to the Netherbow, where he planted himself in the middle of the street to await the approach of the procession, which he, as a citizen of Edinburgh, proposed to welcome into the town. When the royal shoemaker came to the Netherbow Port, Joseph stood forth, removed the truncheon from his haunch, flourished it in the air, and pointing it to the ground, with much dignity of manner, addressed his paste-work majesty in these words: ‘O great King Crispianus! what are we in thy sight but a parcel of puir slaister-kytes—creeshy cobblers—sons of bitches?’ And I have been assured that this ceremony was performed in a style of burlesque exhibiting no small artistic power.

Joseph had a wife, whom he would never permit to walk beside him, it being his opinion that women are inferior to the male part of creation, and not entitled to the same privileges. He compelled his spouse to walk a few paces behind him; and when he turned, she was obliged to make a circuit so as to maintain the precise distance from his person which he assigned to her. When he wished to say anything to her, he whistled as upon a dog, upon which she came up to him submissively and heard what he had to say; after which she respectfully resumed her station in the rear.

After he had figured for a few years as an active partisan of the people, his name waxed of such account with them that it is said he could in the course of an hour collect a crowd of not fewer than ten thousand persons, all ready to obey his high behests, or to disperse at his bidding. In collecting his troops he employed a drum, which, though a general, he did not disdain to beat with his own hands; and never, surely, had the fiery cross of the Highland chief such an effect upon the warlike devotion of his clan as Bowed Joseph’s drum had upon the spirit of the Edinburgh rabble. As he strode along, the street was cleared of its loungers, every close pouring forth an addition to his train, like the populous glens adjacent to a large Highland strath giving forth their accessions to the general force collected by the aforesaid cross. The Town Rats, who might peep forth like old cautious snails on hearing his drum, would draw in their horns with a Gaelic execration, and shut their door, as he approached; while the Lazy Corner was, at sight of him, a lazy corner no longer; and the West Bow ceased to resound as he descended.

It would appear, after all, that there was a moral foundation for Joseph’s power, as there must be for that of all governments of a more regular nature that would wish to thrive or be lasting. The little man was never known to act in a bad cause, or in any way to go against the principles of natural justice. He employed his power in the redress of such grievances as the law of the land does not or cannot easily reach; and it was apparent that almost everything he did was for the sake of what he himself designated fair-play. Fair-play, indeed, was his constant object, whether in clearing room with his brawny arms for a boxing-match, insulting the constituted authorities, sacking the granary of a monopolist, or besieging the Town-council in their chamber.

An anecdote which proves this strong love of fair-play deserves to be recorded. A poor man in the Pleasance having been a little deficient in his rent, and in the country on business, his landlord seized and rouped his household furniture, turning out the family to the street. On the poor man’s return, finding the house desolate and his family in misery, he went to a neighbouring stable and hanged himself.[158] Bowed Joseph did not long remain ignorant of the case; and as soon as it was generally known in the city, he shouldered on his drum, and after beating it through the streets for half-an-hour, found himself followed by several thousand persons, inflamed with resentment at the landlord’s cruelty. With this army he marched to an open space of ground now covered by Adam Street, Roxburgh Street, &c., named in former times Thomson’s Park, where, mounted upon the shoulders of six of his lieutenant-generals, he proceeded to harangue them, in Cambyses’s vein, concerning the flagrant oppression which they were about to revenge. He concluded by directing his men to sack the premises of the cruel landlord, who by this time had wisely made his escape; and this order was instantly obeyed. Every article which the house contained was brought out to the street, where, being piled up in a heap, the general set fire to them with his own hand, while the crowd rent the air with their acclamations. Some money and bank-notes perished in the blaze, besides an eight-day clock, which, sensible to the last, calmly struck ten just as it was consigned to the flames.

On another occasion, during a scarcity, the mob, headed by Joseph, had compelled all the meal-dealers to sell their meal at a certain price per peck, under penalty of being obliged to shut up their shops. One of them, whose place of business was in the Grassmarket, agreed to sell his meal at the price fixed by the general, for the good of the poor, as he said; and he did so under the superintendence of Joseph, who stationed a party at the shop-door to preserve peace and good order till the whole stock was disposed of, when, by their leader’s command, the mob gave three hearty cheers, and quietly dispersed. Next day, the unlucky victualler let his friends know that he had not suffered so much by this compulsory trade as might be supposed; because, though the price was below that of the market, he had taken care to use a measure which gave only about three-fourths instead of the whole. It was not long ere this intelligence came to the ears of our tribune, who, immediately collecting a party of his troops, beset the meal-dealer before he was aware, and compelled him to pay back a fourth of the price of every peck of meal sold; then giving their victim a hearty drubbing, they sacked his shop, and quietly dispersed as before.

Some foreign princes happening to visit Edinburgh during Joseph’s administration, at a period of the year when the mob of Edinburgh was wont to amuse itself with an annual burning of the pope, the magistrates felt anxious that this ceremony should for once be dispensed with, as it might hurt the feelings of their distinguished visitors. The provost, in this emergency, resolved not to employ his own authority, but that of Joseph, to whom, accordingly, he despatched his compliments, with half a guinea, begging his kind offices in dissuading the mob from the performance of their accustomed sport. Joseph received the message with the respect due to the commission of ‘his friend the Lord Provost,’ and pocketed the half-guinea with a complacent smile; but standing up to his full height, and resolutely shaking his rough head, he gave for answer that ‘he was highly gratified by his lordship’s message; but, everything considered, the pope must be burnt!’ And so the pope, honest man, was burnt with all the honours accordingly.

Joseph was at last killed by a fall from the top of a Leith stage-coach, in returning from the races, while in a state of intoxication, about the year 1780. It is to be hoped, for the good of society, that ‘we ne’er shall look upon his like again.’[159]