Beyond this peculiarly Scottish trend of literacy, it must be stated that the major influence on the 1820 Rising is the fact that those involved had lived in an age of revolution for over a generation. The American Revolution of 1776 had already struck a blow to kingship and its attendant system of feudal privileges.

However, the French Revolution of 1789 was to send deeper shockwaves through British society. Here was proof for everyone to see that an ancient system of privileges could be toppled, that the common people could put themselves at the centre of power, and that republicanism was a viable option.

However, although the French Revolution was an emblem of the possibility of change, radicals in Britain weren’t keen to openly associate themselves with the imperialist tendencies of Napoleonic France after Waterloo, and British radicalism was different in that it was peculiar to a Britain that was leading the world into the industrial age.

The period following the American Revolution was a time in Scotland when groups calling themselves Friends of the People pushed gently for reform. These consisted of enlightened aristocrats, members of the rising middle classes, professional people, skilled artisans, and, especially in Scotland, literate, politically motivated workers. Also, the popularity of Corresponding Societies spread north from England, and helped to disseminate many reformist ideas. These ‘clubs’ were perceived to be perfectly respectable by most, and they epitomise the early spirit of the reformists, which often equated to moral and civic responsibility by ‘educated’ people in British society.

However, the French Revolution changed all that for British radicalism, and as William Pitt the Younger led Britain into war with France in 1793, not only did the radicals become more vehement, but the propagation of these reformist ideas came to be viewed by the authorities as sedition, or even treason. In fact by 1795, following the public stoning of King George III’s carriage as it travelled to Westminster, parliament completely redrew the laws for treason, with the effect that holding public meetings in support of reform could lead to the stiffest penalties that the courts were at liberty to dispense.

The ideological wrangling of the reformists would continue, although in a more low-key fashion during the war with France, but it was discontent at the real working conditions of people that would result in events like those which took place at St. Peter’s Fields in industrial Manchester in 1819, when a public reform meeting attracted hordes of the discontented. The authorities estimated the crowd at around 50,000-60,000, big enough to warrant dispersal by military force. A massacre followed in which 11 died and 400 were injured when the Yeomanry were ordered to charge. The massacre became known as Peterloo, a pun on Wellington’s defeat of Napoleon four years earlier.

Peterloo sparked huge protests in Scotland, where the workers, and particularly the weavers, had much to complain about. The weavers in Scotland were skilled and literate people who traditionally worked to commission, chose their own hours, and managed their own lives in a way that was denied to many factory workers. Along with other skilled artisans, they formed an aristocracy of labour and were proud, independent, and increasingly radical in their outlook.

In the first decade of the 19th century the average wage of a weaver halved, and the devaluation of their work continued in the second decade until the situation became unbearable for many. In 1813, a general strike of an estimated 40,000 weavers lasted over two months, until the authorities arrested the leaders, and unions grudgingly returned to work. As the post-Waterloo recession gripped Scotland, the situation worsened, with 1816 being a particularly black year for Glasgow, resulting in major bankruptcies across the city and its environs. This sparked another gathering of tens of thousands at Thrushgrove near Glasgow, demanding reform.

By 1820, the reformists had a long tradition, locally, nationally and internationally; the economic situation only seemed to worsen, and the stage was set for the rising that would result in the deaths of Wilson, Hardie and Baird.

There existed in Scotland a covert group called the Committee for Organising a Provisional government, which consisted of committed radicals, elected by their respective unions, who would assume responsibility of organising the new social structure of Scotland in the aftermath of a successful rising. However, it seems clear in retrospect that the committee had also been infiltrated by government spies, who were rife at the time, being one of the government’s most important defences against underground radical activities.

The committee had the misfortune to convene in Marshall’s Tavern in Glasgow’s Gallowgate on March 21 1820, in the presence of a man who we can only assume was a spy – he was one John King, a weaver from Anderston. King left the meeting early, just before the entire committee was arrested and detained in secret by the authorities.

This is a vital point in relation to the events that unfolded over the next few weeks, because the organising committee, the body of people who would be the centre of any radical rising, were off the streets and obviously not able to organise very much from their prison cells.

The very next day, King was present at another meeting of important radicals in Anderston in Glasgow. It was also attended by another three men, who are now heavily suspected as being government spies: John Craig, a weaver, Duncan Turner, a tin-smith, and Robert Lees, described only as “the Englishman.” King took the initiative at this meeting and reported that a large-scale rising was imminent and that all those present should make themselves ready for armed conflict.

The following Monday, people from many different trades, but especially weaving, stopped work. They were not only refusing to work, but were in many cases preparing for war. Reports flooded in of groups of men engaged in military drills, and making weapons such as pikes from any material that could be obtained. Revolt was in the air.

On Tuesday 4 April, Duncan Turner, the issuer of the proclamation, was mustering a group of about 60 men in Germiston, and using all his arts of persuasion to convince the men to march to the Carron Works in Falkirk, where they could obtain arms for the coming battles. Not all were convinced, but he rallied those that would go with promises of meeting more men on the way to help them in their mission. He himself would be engaged in organising other initiatives and wouldn’t accompany them on their long march.

The leader of the group was the ill-fated Andrew Hardie, and Turner gave him half a card, which, he assured him, would match exactly with another half card held by a man waiting for him in Condorrat; a man at the head of another group of fighters. In this way the group would grow, swelling its ranks until it arrived at Carron.

Waiting in Condorrat was John Baird, at the head of five men, holding his half card that had been given to him by none other than John King in one of his many guises. Both Hardie and Baird were no doubt expecting to unite with a small army when they matched their cards, and were obviously disappointed when they did match cards in the early hours of the morning. However, John King promised more support before they reached Carron, and he himself would ride ahead to rally these supporters.

It is known that by this time the army already knew of a plot to take Carron, as a Lt. Hodgson had set off from Perth to protect Carron from an attack expected that day, Wednesday 5th April. Also, the band of radicals were spotted and reported twice following their departure from Condorrat, confirming for the authorities that trouble was afoot.

The next time the band met King, they had been marching all night, and King told them to leave the road and wait at Bonnymuir while he mustered support from Camelon. This was the last the group were to see of King. Nor did they see more armed men rallying to their cause: instead they were shortly to meet opposing troops, with Lt Hodgson at their head, who had also left the road and incredibly found their way straight to Hardie and Baird’s band on Bonnymuir.

The ensuing battle was nothing more than a skirmish, whereby Hodgson’s force of 32 soldiers, after a volley of shots from the radicals, easily overpowered them with a cavalry charge. Two soldiers and four radicals were wounded. In total, 19 of the radicals were taken prisoner and sent to Stirling Castle.

The event in itself hardly constitutes a major rising, but other isolated disturbances were taking place across West and Central Scotland, and the journey of Hardie and Baird showed that at the fore of radical thinking was union with other groups in different parts of the country. However, the government seemed always to be one step ahead of the radicals, with inside knowledge at every step; also, the core organisers had been in jail since March 21st, without public knowledge, and some very suspicious men were acting on their behalf. The theory that the whole event was a plot hatched by agent provocateurs in order to draw the radicals into open battle is difficult to resist.

On the fateful day of April 5th, troops took up position all over Glasgow, and although radical movements were reported all day, no attack was forthcoming.

Also on April 5th, the awful fate of James Wilson was starting to unfold. Again, one of our suspected spies was involved, this time the “Englishman” Lees, who sent a message to the Strathaven radicals that the rising had started. Wilson left with a small force of 25 the following morning, carrying a banner that declared “Scotland Free or a Desert.”

By the time they neared East Kilbride, they were tipped off that an army ambush lay between them and their destination at Cathkin. Wilson returned to Strathaven, while his men avoided the ambush and reached their destination to find no action at all at Cathkin. By the following evening, the authorities had discovered the identity of 10 of the group, including Wilson, and held them under lock and key.

Perhaps the worst violence occurred on Saturday 8th April when the authorities tried to move a group of the prisoners from Paisley to Greenock. The citizens of Greenock attacked the soldiers who had been ordered to move the prisoners. Even after they had completed their task, the soldiers still had to fight their way back out of the town as the crowd pelted them with stones. The army opened fire, killing eight people, including an eight-year-old child, and injuring 10 others.