It seemed indeed as if serious disaster would now be averted. All night
long a willing band of firemen and volunteers were engaged in bringing
the precious fluid to the famine stricken district. But, including
private and other wells, the available supply was little more than
70,000,000 gallons per day and this had to be divided amongst 6,000,000
people over an area of some thirty square miles.
And this, after all, was only a proper precaution. The New River and
Kent Companies had a face supply of 50,000,000 gallons per diem, but
this was an absolute maximum and far over the average demand.
Moreover, the drought had been a long one, and the reserve reservoirs
had been freely called upon. In a day or two the allowance would have
to be halved.
Again in the hospitals and sick households water for domestic purposes
was absolutely necessary. Meanwhile scores of the main line trains had
been knocked off to make way for trains of tanks bringing water from
the country. The Spring Gardens officials were working with superhuman
efforts.
All night long a stream of people were coming and going between
Trafalgar Square and such other open supplies as were available.
Morning came at length, with the promise of another sweltering day.
A few people turned vaguely to Parliament to do something. Two days
before the House of Commons had looked forward to prorogation on
Saturday, but there was no talk of that any longer.
The streets began to be busy again. There were smartly-dressed men
here and there with grimy chins and features frankly dirty. It seemed
strange to see individuals with good coats and spotless linen grimed
and lined with the dust of yesterday. A steady breeze was blowing so
that in a little time the dust in the streets became intolerable. The
air was full of a fine dry powder that penetrated lungs and throat, and
produced a painful thirst. It was impossible to water the roads, so
that the evil had to be endured.
There was one question on every lip, and that was whether there had
been any further spread of the plague. The authorities were exceedingly
happy to announce that no further cases had been reported. There
was comfort in the knowledge, and London breathed a little easier.
Evidently the prompt measures taken had averted all danger of a
disastrous epidemic. Gradually it became known who the sufferers were.
It was an awful price that London had to pay for the casting away of
the Santa Anna.
But that was only the spark to the powder, after all. Extraordinary
apathy and criminal carelessness were the causes of the disaster. The
knowledge a century hence that London derived its water supply from an
open river into which many towns conveyed its sewage will be recorded
with pitiful amazement. For the present we have the plain unmitigated
fact.
The yellow press made the most of it. The _Red Banner_ pointed to
corruption and apathy on the part of the ruling powers; the _Red
Banner_ also asked if it were not a fact that our bloated legislators
had a private water supply of their own, and that, whilst the common
people were allowanced, our law makers were sipping their coffee and
tea and whiskey and water as usual?
It was the usual coarse gibe to be expected from a paper of that type,
an arrow at venture. But for once the thing was true, seeing that the
House of Commons has a private supply of water drawn from a well of
its own. As a rule, the _Banner_ carried very little weight, but the
question got into the people's mouths and became a catchword. A man had
only to pass a standpipe without a struggle in its direction, to be
dubbed a member of the House of Commons, i.e., the public want did not
touch him at all.
The blazing, panting day wore on. People were beginning faintly to
understand what a water famine might mean. Everybody was grimy and
tired; in the East and West alike dingy features could be seen. As
night fell small riots broke out here and there, people were robbed
of their precious fluid as they carried it along the streets. It had
leaked out that sundry shops in different parts of London had wells,
and these establishments were stormed and looted of their contents by
thieves who took advantage of the confusion. It was only by dint of the
most strenuous exertion that the police managed to keep the upper hand.
Another day or two of this and what would become of London? At
nightfall it became absolutely necessary to release some millions of
gallons of the condemned water for the flushing of the sewers. There
was danger here, but, on the whole, the danger was less than a wide
epidemic of diphtheria and fever. And there were people thirsty and
reckless enough to drink this water heedless of the consequences. With
characteristic imprudence, the East End had exhausted its dole early in
the day, and wild-eyed men raved through the streets yelling for more.
From time to time the police raided and broke up these dangerous
commandoes. A well-known democratic agitator came with a following over
Westminster Bridge and violently harangued a knot of his followers in
Palace Yard. The police were caught napping for the moment. The burly
red-faced demagogue looked round the swelling sea of sullen features
and pointed to the light in the clock tower. He started spouting the
froth of his tribe.
It was all the fault of the governing body, of course. They managed
things much better on the Continent.
"If you were men," he yelled, "you'd drag them out of yonder. You'd
make them come and work like the rest of us. What said the _Banner_
to-day? Your bloated rulers are all right; they don't want for
anything. At the present moment they have plenty of the water that
you'd sell your souls for."
"If you'll lead the way, we'll follow," said a voice hoarsely.
The orator glanced furtively around. There was not a single police
helmet to be seen, nothing but five or six hundred desperate men ready
for anything.
"Then come along," he yelled. "We'll make history to-night."
He strode towards the House followed by a yelling mob. The few police
inside were tossed here and there like dry leaves in a flood; the quiet
decorum of the lobby was broken up, a white-faced member fled into
the chamber and declared that London was in riot and that a mob of
desperadoes were here bent on wrecking the mother of parliaments.
An interminable debate on some utterly useless question was in
progress, the Speaker nodded wearily under the weight of his robes and
wig, the green benches were dotted with members all utterly overcome
with the stifling heat. There was to be a big division about midnight,
so that the smoking-room and bars and terraces were full of members.
[Illustration: The mob filled the chamber, yelling and shouting. It was
in vain that the Speaker tried to make his voice heard above the din.]
The Speaker looked up sharply. A stinging reproof was on the tip of
his tongue. He had scarcely uttered a word, before, as if by magic,
the green benches were swarming with the mob. It filled the chamber,
yelling and shouting. It was in vain that the Speaker tried to make his
voice heard above the din.
A glass of water and a bottle stood on the table before him. One of
the intruders more audacious than the rest snatched up the glass and
emptied it. A mighty roar of applause followed the audacious act. As
yet the mob was fairly good-humoured, though there was no knowing what
their mood would be presently.
"It's that confounded _Banner_," one member of the government groaned
to another. "They have come after our private supply. Can't one of you
get to the telephone and call up Scotland Yard?"
Meanwhile the mob were inclined to be sportive. They surged forward to
the table driving the Speaker back behind the chair, they overturned
the table and scattered books and papers in all directions. The foreign
element in the company started singing the _Marseillaise_ in strident
tones. The martial spirit of it fired the blood of the others.
"We are wasting time here," someone cried. "There are bars and
dining-rooms. As we came in I heard the rattle of glasses. This way."
The crowd reeled back as if one motion controlled them all. There was
still the same note of laughter in the roar and all might have been
well yet, but for the advent of a small, but determined body of police.
They charged fiercely into the mob, and in the twinkling of an eye
farces gave way to tragedy.
In less time than it takes to tell the police were beaten back with one
or two of their number badly hurt, whilst the forefront of the visitors
had not come off any better. The popular chamber had become a wreck;
outside in the lobby broken furniture was scattered about everywhere.
Then the tide of humanity surged into the bars and dining-rooms. A few
frightened attendants and waiters still stuck to their posts. The sight
of the glasses and bottles of water about seemed to madden the mob.
They demanded that all the taps should be turned on, the fittings were
wrenched away amidst a perfect tornado of applause, soon the floors
were swimming with the element that all London was clamouring for
outside.
The rooms were strewn with broken glass and china, the floors were damp
and soppy with the wasted water. Here and there men were feasting on
looted food. Never had anything like this been seen in any parliament
before. A few courageous members vainly trying to stop the din wondered
where were the police.
But they were coming. They did come presently, two hundred of them,
steady, stern, and disciplined, and before them the rioters fled like
chaff before the wind. Five more minutes and the House was cleared.
But the damage was great.
Outside a dense mass of people had gathered, attracted by the news of
the riot. They were in no mood to take the side of law and order and it
was with great difficulty that the ring-leaders of the late affray were
got away safely. A thin high voice a long way off in the back of the
crowd was shouting something which seemed to at once arrest attention.
A sullen murmur came up to Palace Yard. The loose jeers of the mob
ceased as if by magic.
"What are they saying?" an Irish member asked.
"I can't quite catch it," another member said, "but it's something
about water in Trafalgar Square. I shouldn't wonder if----"
Just for an instant the roar broke out again. There was a note of fear
in it this time. The babel of voices yelled one against the other.
Gradually it was possible to make something out of it.
"By Jove, it's as I feared," the Irish member said. "The spring under
the Trafalgar Square fountain has given out. It's a public calamity.
See, they are all off. No more row to-night."
The great crowd was melting away with marvellous rapidity. Each man
there wanted to verify this new disaster for himself. The mob streamed
along towards the Square as if life and death hung in the balance. If
fortune had lain there they could not have fought or struggled harder.
In the heat and the strife many fell by the way, but they lay there
unheeded.
The cool fountain no longer played. People who had come from afar with
vessels for the precious fluid cast them on the ground passionately and
cursed aloud. The disaster was so great, it appeared so overwhelming
that the cruel mood of the mob was held in check for the time.
Taking advantage, the police shepherded the mob here and there until
comparative quiet was restored. Dr. Longdale, on his way home, paused
to contemplate the scene.
"'Blucher or night,'" he murmured, "Darbyshire or morning, rather. I'd
give my practice to have a few words with Darbyshire now. I'll just
call at the Charing Cross Hospital and see how he is."
It was comparatively quiet in the Strand by this time. Four or five
stalwart constables stood on the steps of the hospital as a safeguard,
for there was no lack of water there. A house-surgeon came hurrying out.
"I am very glad to see you," he said. "I was just going to send for
you. Dr. Darby----"
"Good heaven, you don't mean to say he is worse!"
"On the contrary, much better; quite sensible, in fact; and he declines
to think about sleep until he has seen you."