Roger Johns is deeply committed to his cause, waging a war pitting laborers against manufacturers and merchants but the grass-roots movement will not adequately stop the revolution of industry and innovation will prove too great a force to overcome as the world moves forthright into modernity, leaving its antiquated past behind…
Spring flowers stood tall and bloomed bright under the sunlight in a meadow near Huddersfield, sadly stained and spattered red with blood, oozing from five poor protestors, gunned down by soldiers under direct orders from King George III to capture or kill, whatever necessary. His Royal Majesty and the Parlament had deemed months before any attack or sabotage on manufacturing equipment a crime punishable by banishment or death.
Now, groaning and teeth-gnashing caught the attention of one trooper, who patrolled over the fallen, carefully choosing his steps to avoid puddles of blood and torn soft tissue from touching his boots. The stench in the air had already begun to permeate the field, as the odor of gunpowder wafted away into the sky.
Delightful songs, chirped by cheeky birds unaware of the carnage, almost completely drowned out by a morbid dirge of screams, shrieked from the mortally wounded, trying in vain desperation to overcome their fate while others, seriously injured, groaned and writhed in sheer anguish, knowing full well the survivors were the truly unlucky ones this day.
The soldier, surveying the dead and wounded, looked down at one combatant lying prostrate on the grass clenching his injured arm, moaning in pain, staring back up in contemptuous defiance, with a trail of spittle running down his mouth.
“What’s your name Luddite?”
“Johns. Roger Johns.”
“Well, Mister Johns, by decree of the British Crown, you are hereby immediately sentenced to life in New South Wales under penalty of machine sabotage and treacherous murder of a Majesty’s soldier. That is, if you don’t die along the way first.”
Roger Johns was among the most prominent industrial equipment saboteurs, disenfranchised bandits who banded into eclectic groups, mostly comprised of laborers put out of work by new-flanged machines. Revolutionary contraptions that substantially reduced the need for hands-on manpower and required a particular level of skill by far fewer to operate properly.
These apparatuses were now more prevalent than ever, being introduced in the mid-1800s to manufacturing facilities producing a wide variety of products from textiles to clothing. They existed not only in England but all over Europe and were also deep grievances of workers in France – a country still internally healing from its own bloody civil war – a revolution against the monarchy that claimed the lives of at least 40,000, many by guillotine execution and internecine murder.
Roger Johns certainly wasn’t the first but he would be among the last of the Luddites – subversives who sabotaged or outright destroyed industrial machinery they blamed for taking their jobs. Although Johns did stand out in one respect – he had recruited and led several of these loosely organized groups. Something he did out of sheer hatred and spite.
Roger and his wife lost their youngest, Sarah, at the tender age of four years old. Like so many other child deaths of the era, her painful end was due to the unsanitary conditions of the time, leaving her vulnerable to infection. For sweet little Sarah, it was scarlet fever. Johns shortly lost his factory employment thereafter to a machine. Without means to earn an income for his family, Johns convinced his wife and son to go to a poorhouse while he tried to find employment of any kind. He failed at every attempt, having no real education and a very narrow, yet poor, skillset. His wife and son did not fare any better and were subsequently sent to labor in a workhouse, and neither survived long.
By this time, the British crown had already enacted a number of laws prohibiting the sabotaging or destruction of industrial equipment. However, many commoners were sympathetic to their fellow working-class neighbors and went to great lengths to protect them. As a result, the English government passed even more restrictive laws regarding such attacks against machinery, and at this point, there were more British troops fighting to suppress Luddite groups than battling French soldiers in the war against Napoleon.
In fact, the initial conditions that led to the formation of the Luddites occurred during the Napoleonic Wars as new forms of factory automation began to emerge, thus replacing some workers, mostly low-skilled, low-paid fabricators. The war, combined with a rising increase in unemployment, exacerbated working-class financial troubles. Food shortages further worsened conditions, causing families to go hungry.
The conclusion became self-evident among the dispossessed, their plight was the fault of the new-fangled machines. In retaliation, Luddites began sabotaging or outright destroying industrial equipment. This occurred on a fairly wide scale, although there was no formal organization of these groups of angry workers. Instead, small groups operated almost totally independent of one another, though their methodologies were usually quite similar.
Western European monarchical subjects had a long but sporadic history with overbearing rulers. Nearly six hundred years prior, in June of 1215, King John reluctantly signed the Magna Carta at Runnymede field, along the River Thames. Confronted by approximately forty angry barons, threatening a civil war, the royal capitulated to their demands.
Again, five hundred and seventy-four years later in May 1789, French King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette were deposed and eventually executed. Starting with a coup and devolving into a bloody civil war, the entire country was torn apart for ten dark years.
Despite these struggles for freedom, working conditions remained dangerous and deplorable for the average laborer. Now, in the early nineteenth century, just over a decade into the 1800s, workers were threatened by automation, complex machines that would take their livelihoods away.
On the heels of the Napoleonic Wars, British subjects who labored in factories for little pay under excruciating conditions were staging an uprising of their own. This time, it wasn’t in the form of a national decree, as in 1215. Or, through the brute force of all-out war against the reigning government. Instead, strategic attacks on the very equipment displacing workers.
Roger Johns would survive this particular incident, though he had very little chance of living through his impending banishment in New South Wales, a penal colony established by the British crown. Destined to become Australia, the immense island had first been discovered by the Dutch, and James Cook’s future expedition in 1770 was the first recorded landing.
Then, just under a score later, in 1788, Captain Arthur Phillip guided a fleet of eleven British ships, all carrying convicts, establishing it as a prison camp. It would remain so for eighty years, holding as many as 160,000 convicts from England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. Each one spared the death penalty, but all condemned to a cruel fate. These prisoners served as a fresh labor supply. Men who built roads and bridges, courthouses and hospitals, and planted, raised, and harvested government-run farms. Women generally served in domestic roles. Though that age would eventually come to a close, another had begun decades earlier.
Roger Johns’ sabotage continued the tradition of labor revolt that began with Ned Ludd, a young apprentice rumored to have destroyed a textile machine in 1779. Also known as Captain, General, or even King Ludd, the legend probably came from a mythical figure, like Robin Hood or Robin of Locksley, King Author, and Sir Lancelot.
It was in that same year, 1779, in October, that a group of textile workers in a Manchester factory protested against the installation of machinery, and rioted, taking on the Luddite moniker that would persist through 1813 among various saboteur groups. Their numbers would never greatly grow. But circumstances kept new recruits willfully joining their disparate ranks over their thirty-four-year existence.
The British Crown’s actions contributed to their cause. One such instance occurred in November of 1807 when the Parliament issued an order forbidding trade with France and its allies. This badly damaged Britain’s economy and made the aggrieved unemployed more desperate to strike back. Only four years later, in March of 1811, Roger Johns’ fellow Luddites smashed stocking frames in Nottinghamshire. That particular incident ended without much violence, as British troopers confronted and dispersed a group of protestors demanding more work and higher wages.
In January 1812, two incidents occurred. The first was on the 15th when a plot to destroy machinery was disrupted in Yorkshire and the second, gig mills were set afire in suspected cases of arson. Then, on February 22nd, the workshop of Joseph Hirst of Marsh fell under assault, leaving shearing frames badly damaged. The premises of James Balderson of Crosland Moor were also attacked the same day. Johns was among the list of suspected vandals, but there wasn’t sufficient evidence against him.
February 26th experienced an attack on a dressing shop. All of the machinery in the place was destroyed, causing merchants and manufacturers to unite in a joint effort to suppress and disband Luddites. But, in March of 1812, the saboteurs struck yet again in Leeds, leading the government to make machine-breaking an offense punishable by death. Regardless of the new law, a shearing mill had its equipment destroyed, along with fine woolen cloth materials from March 23rd through the 25th. Again, Johns was believed to be involved, perhaps as the chief planner, but officials could not establish a case against him.
Dressing frames and shears were subsequently attacked and smashed on April 1st near Holmfirth. Eight days later, on April 9th, an armed crowd, numbering between 300 to 600 attacked and wrecked gig mills, cloth stock, frames, shears, and more.
Despite these vicious campaigns against manufacturers and merchants, new equipment kept arriving. Economic conditions simultaneously deteriorated, leading to large-scale food riots in Sheffield, Rotherham, and Barnsley between April 14th and 15th. On April 18th, an attempt to murder William Cartwright failed, the owner of a mill at Rawfolds, near Cleckheaton.
Government officials feared Luddites would no longer be content with breaking machinery. Even among the military ranks of the Crown, some soldiers would not fight demolishers. One particular trooper refused to fire on bandits during the siege of Rawfolds Mill. His punishment, 300 strokes. Only 25 were struck against the legionnaire before Mr. Cartwright himself intervened and demanded the flogging stop immediately.
However, this show of empathy did not satisfy the Luddites in the least. It simply wasn’t enough and certainly wasn’t sincere to their plight. Sparing the soldier’s life – who would have died had all the lashes been given – would not solve the perceived problem. So, the attacks continued on, with Roger Johns planning and/or participating in more machine-breaking campaigns.
“All right, the next target is Manchester – Willstall Mill. It’s just received its first industrial equipment and put too many people out of work!” He shouted to a small crowd of angry laborers. “We’ll hit ‘em at sunset, just before dusk. There’ll be enough light to carry out our mission and the darkness will provide ample cover to escape undetected.”
Johns went over every detail, outlining each person’s role in the machine sabotage operation. It had to be coordinated to inflict ample damage and so every participant knew their part in the campaign. Otherwise, they’d be much easier to catch in the act or hunt down quickly thereafter.
During this period in time, it was customary for manufacturers to protect their factories with private security – the same was true for merchants, who hired armed personnel to guard their stores. The Luddite groups were well aware of these measures and arranged their sabotage plans to evade confrontation, injury, or death. Precautions had to be taken because it was not at all unusual for machine breakers to be gunned down in the act or while fleeing the scene of the crime.
Meanwhile, thousands of military troops also patrolled key areas where sabotage was considered most likely to occur. So, the bandits would often select softer targets, without adequate protection. Vulnerable factories and stores typically lacked the financial means to defend against such attacks and were therefore prime vandalism opportunities.
This is why Willstall Mill in Manchester was next. Its owner relied on heavy window and door lockdown because the cost of hiring private security wasn’t affordable, especially as the economy continued to struggle. What would be more expensive was the price of replacing precious machinery – equipment that would soon be left in shambles, torn apart by axes, hammers, and resentful hands. Still, the owner took his chances as he could not absorb the cost of hiring private security.
That very evening, the owner was notified of the damage. The news was devastating and he vowed to rebuild, though such a recovery wasn’t practical. The newspapers reported the incident with colorful and provocative language, not exactly yellow journalism, but most definitely a precursor to the sensationalistic practice that would emerge decades later, near the end of the century. “Vicious Luddite Attacks Against Manufacturers and Merchants Persist,” one lead headline announced.
“Here it is!” Johns shouted, holding the paper above his head, waving it eagerly about. “This is a clear warning to any and all manufacturers and merchants their precious businesses are not safe and won’t be until they give up this destructive and callus adaptation of machinery!”
Roger quickly handed the newspaper over to William Barry, a close associate who joined with Johns months ago, “Please, Mister Barry, if you would be so good, read us a little bit so these fine folks will know their actions can stop these scoundrels from discarding us in favor of equipment!”
The man looked over the paper for a moment, hastily familiarizing himself with the contents before reading it aloud. Johns eagerly awaited to hear what was written because he could not read or write – something very common among his generation – a full 40 percent of males and 60 percent of females were illiterate.
“Well, now. Ugh, let’s see here. ‘Yesterevening, Willstall Mill near Manchester came under direct attack by villainous Luddites, who left equipment in shambles after destroying new machines…’”
The man went on to read most of the article, the crowd occasionally erupting into self-congratulatory cheer and applause. But Roger didn’t share their satisfaction. Instead, he began planning yet another attack. This time, not against a manufacturer but a merchant in Manchester, one who sold some of the finest garments in the area.
As the others celebrated, William and Roger conspired. Much like Johns, Barry was also a self-proclaimed victim of industrialization. Although the two had similar backgrounds, William’s had a more particular, advanced skillset. One that put him in a good position in regard to his former employer, who brought in new equipment as soon as it was available.
William Barry was a bit more formally educated and once aspired to become a successful businessman himself. But, unfortunate circumstances intervened. As a result, he made an unenviable choice that would allow him to earn a relatively decent living but certainly not make him rich. It was these very occurrences that made him bitter and eventually led to his decision to forgo the risks of entrepreneurship. It also cost him an intimate relationship and her departure wounded his pride even more so.
“Tell me, William, are you familiar with Davidson’s in Sheffield? The garment designer and seller whose fine clothing makes pompous appearances in the most fashionable establishments in London?”
“Oh, yes, I am, Roger.”
“I hear tell this very store is getting its materials supply from an offending mill – one that’s replaced quite a bit of its human workforce for those most disruptive machines!”
“But, that’s over sixty kilometers away. It would take us at least…”
“No worry, there my good man. I’ve received word some of our sympathetic colleagues have plans for Davidson’s. I have also received word there’s another operation to take place in Liverpool, near River Mersey – a textile maker. I believe these would offer us a prime opportunity right here – a distraction if you will.”
“Yes, I follow, Roger.”
“Good, Mr. Barry, very good. So, whilst these intentions are carried out, no doubt the King’s men will have their hands full. That gives us the occasion to strike yet again. And, this time, against Harold Morsey and his disgraceful league.”
“But, Johns, that’s one of the biggest. Morsey will have his private security on guard. We’ll never get inside!”
“I suppose that’s true. But, what’s nearby will give us everything we need, like the lumber mill. If a fire should break out, it’ll spread too quickly to contain. A little trail of gunpowder right to Morsey’s place will guarantee its fall!”
“It would have to be very well coordinated, Roger.”
“Agreed, William. The business in Sheffield and Liverpool will both commence on the same day at the same time. Troopers will respond accordingly and that’s when we’ll move. Some well-placed whale oil, a bit of kindling here and there, and a neat line of gunpowder will do the trick.”
“I don’t know about that Roger. It’s one thing to break machines. It’s quite another to burn an entire factory down.”
“I understand. But, in case you haven’t noticed, we aren’t winning this war, the machinery keeps coming and coming. It keeps taking livelihood after livelihood. How many more have to be disgraced? How many more families have to be torn apart? If we don’t take a stand now, these machines will replace every single worker!”
Johns’ passion was all too apparent. It was also equally convincing. William couldn’t refute his point. The machines were displacing people all over the country, through Europe, and over in the emerging United States. The phenomenon would most definitely persist and there was no doubt the world was moving headlong into a new age. One that would no longer so intricately rely on hands-on labor. But, a society that operated and advanced through automation.
Roger further discussed his plans with William, and the two laid out a detailed action scenario to carry out against Morsey’s factory. It entailed gathering the right materials, and strategically placing them to inflict the maximum amount of damage.
They would exploit its structural architecture, being almost entirely built from wood as steel construction wouldn’t appear until the 1880s in Chicago and the first in Europe at the end of the nineteenth century in Liverpool. What’s more, there wasn’t a first response unit because that wouldn’t be organized until 1824, when Edinburgh formed its original fire brigade. England followed eight years later, with an organized fire fighting unit in 1832.
So, setting Morsey’s structure ablaze would most certainly cause extensive damage, probably even burn it right down to the ground to smoldering ashes. And that’s precisely what they did. Johns and Barry organized their fellow local Luddites to set the fire, one day after their colleagues in Sheffield and Liverpool attacked. The conspirators worked diligently, carefully staging flammable materials and when the time was right, set fire just outside the lumber mill.
In no time at all, flames consumed the entire structure and spread out, following the path laid by Johns, Barry, and their collaborators. The fire ravaged on, eventually engulfing Harold Morsey’s plant, his private security was too overwhelmed to put out the blaze, and quickly abandoned the premises, leaving it to burn. The fire would gain infamy in the region due to its immense destruction and would constitute the biggest case of arson during the Luddite’s entire existence.
Though a sizeable victory for the saboteurs, it would be among the last. Subsequent campaigns would inflict smaller amounts of damage but nothing nearly as large-scale. Although, the Luddites did carry out more attacks. However, their days of getting away with machine breaking were fast coming to a close. After more than a year of sabotaging factories and stores across England, manufacturers and merchants adopted more intricate security measures. The British government likewise stepped up its fight, deploying more troops to put down the Luddite uprising.
But Johns would not give up the struggle. “Tomorrow, we’ll organize another campaign in Yorkshire, my friend.”
“With just the right rallying call, we can easily attract one hundred or more, Roger. Still, we’ll have to get word to the right people.”
“William, I’ve got the perfect message and median. Together, we’ll make April of 1812 a month those damned factory owners and merchants won’t soon forget!”
The message definitely worked. A raucous crowd of about 150 protestors gathered in solidarity outside a Yorkshire mill. The situation grew tense as the demonstrators closed in on the building, with defenders taking up arms to repel the group. The situation spiraled out of control and the confrontation left two Luddites shot dead, with a good number wounded from a gunfight between the protestors and the mill’s security personnel.
Ultimately, the protest proved another setback for the Luddites. Their ranks, though smaller and dwindling through March and April, remained enthusiastic and ardent. Although new recruits came aboard the movement, more left out of fear of retribution, or just felt their efforts were in vain. Regardless, it seemed fewer and fewer people sympathized with their collective plight.
But, that trend appeared to turn around when 2,000 disenfranchised workers and sympathetic individuals assembled in a mass protest. Among them, was William Barry, who wholeheartedly took a leadership position, fomenting the crowd, calling for them to storm into the nearest factory.
As hundreds eagerly ran through the gates and into the plant, armed guards opened fire, raining bullets down on the infiltrators, producing a heavy layer of suppressive fire. When the smoke cleared, three demonstrators lay dead and eighteen escaped with injuries. But, this wouldn’t be the last confrontation – even more blood would continue to flow throughout April. Among those killed was William Barry.
Roger vowed to press on with as much tenacity and passion as he could muster. Near the end of the month, after burying his long-time friend, Johns vigorously worked to organize another attack. On Monday, April 20th, he rallied over one hundred protestors and machine saboteurs, threatening Burton’s Mill. As the unruly crowd marched toward the factory, British soldiers opened fire, killing a dozen.
Johns managed to escape without injury, though his pride was greatly wounded. It was clear the government and factory and store owners would use any amount of force, including lethal, to stamp out the Luddites once and for all. This realization enraged Roger, who immediately began organizing yet another campaign.
On Tuesday, April 21st, the very next day, Johns led a large group of protestors and machine breakers. Although, they wouldn’t reach their destination. Soldiers killed five more and Rogers lay in a flowery meadow near Huddersfield, clutching his arm in pain, attempting to stop the agony with a firm grip.
Spring flowers stood tall and bloomed bright under the sunlight, sadly stained and spattered red with blood, oozing from five poor souls, gasping their last breaths, gunned down by soldiers under direct orders from King George III to capture or kill, whatever necessary.
One soldier, surveying the dead and wounded, looked down at Johns as he lay prostrate on the grass clenching his injured arm, moaning in pain, staring back up in contemptuous defiance, with a trail of spittle running down his mouth.
“What’s your name Luddite?”
“Johns. Roger Johns.”
“Well, Mister Johns, by decree of the British Crown, you are hereby immediately sentenced to life in New South Wales under penalty of machine sabotage and treacherous murder of a Majesty’s soldier. That is, if you don’t die along the way first.”
Indeed, this would be the end. In just a couple of days, with his hands and legs shackled, his wounded arm still untreated and dripping blood, Roger Johns, feeling defeated and shamed, was thrust aboard a ship, bound for a hopeless existence that would last for a full decade until he succumbed to future mortal injuries, inflicted while exploding rock to make a well that sent fragments into his lower abdomen, even after initially surviving the months’ long journey from England, during which dozens of other convicts died from typhus or scurvy.
Before his death, Johns would hear of more protests and attacks against factories and stores. He would also hear about the murder of William Horsfall many months later after it occurred on Tuesday, April 28, 1812. Four assailants gunned the manufacturer, leaving their victim dangling from horse stirrups, after being shot four times. Onlookers who witnessed the murder attempted to render aid but failed to save the victim’s life.
Three of the deadly attackers, George Mellor, William Thorpe, and Thomas Smith, were later tried and found guilty, in January of 1813 at York Castle, summarily executed thereafter. Subsequently, five more Luddites were also found guilty of assault and nine more were eventually put to death for stealing arms and money. Six more were banished to New South Wales for the crime of giving and receiving illegal oaths.
Luddism would essentially come to its end in the summer of 1813. Its cessation caused by a number of factors, despite the ongoing war that pitted England against the United States for nearly three years in the War of 1812, which ended in February of 1815. Over a half-century later, in January of 1868, the last transport ship Hougoumont would arrive in the port of Fremantle with 269 convicts, the last criminals to live out their sentences of exile in New South Wales.
The word Luddite itself largely disappeared from the English lexicon in the early nineteenth century. It would reappear almost a century and a half later when a Labour spokesman used the term during a 1956 British Parliamentary debate. Today, the moniker is applied to anyone who remains opposed or resistant to adopting new technologies.
