THE LEAGUERS’ SECOND MOVE
Rumour has many wings, and, though the following day was Sunday,
rumour fluttered through clubland in the morning, giving rise to many
languid speculations concerning the true inwardness of the New Bailey
episode of the previous day. It was regarded, for the most part, as an
isolated incident, and not as the first link in a chain of significant
events. It only began to be recognised in the latter character when it
became known that the telegram which had drawn the well-known Treasury
counsel, Arthur Dutton, to the north, was an absolute forgery, and
devoid of any sort of truth or justification. In the light of this
discovery, the attack which had incapacitated his leader, Mr Boulton,
assumed a sinister suggestiveness. But even then, there was no one
in the West End clubs who attributed the inopportune, or opportune,
illness of Sir John Westwood to any other than purely natural causes.
Some light might have been thrown on that point by his trusted clerk,
or, indirectly, by Wilson’s wife, who on Sunday afternoon found her
husband contemplating a bank-note with interest so thoughtful and
absorbed that he did not hear his better-half approach.
“Bless and save us! what are you staring at there?” demanded Mrs
Wilson, who always was tart of tone and imperative in manner.
“It’s a Bank of England note,” was Wilson’s reply.
“How much?” demanded Mrs Wilson.
“Five hundred pounds,” said Wilson, slowly; and he straightway lied
according to his lights, when the wife of his bosom, who had the
instincts of a cross-examiner, pursued her vehement inquiries.
Meanwhile, the weather being charming, London society had been taking
its Sunday airing in Hyde Park under surprising and inconvenient
conditions. Between three and four o’clock great numbers of people of
the type that had visited the Old Bailey on the previous day assembled
on the south side of the Serpentine. Here, lining the rails, they
shouted, yelled, and hooted at the passing carriages, to the surprise
and alarm of their elegantly-attired occupants. Whistling, groans, and
discordant noises filled the air. The turbulent throng grew and grew,
and under the shield of popular excitement, thieves, pickpockets, and
other disorderly persons employed themselves with their accustomed
diligence. A hulking youth ran before a carriage and repeatedly struck
the horse’s nose with his cap. Mud was thrown at some of the brilliant
sunshades that flashed past, and a gentleman on horseback was almost
unseated by part of a hurdle thrown at him by a ruffian lurking in the
crowd. Horses plunged; some fell; while the mob expressed its feelings
in triumphant jeers and mocking laughter. Presently volleys of stones
began to fly, and as yet the police were present in such small numbers
as to be practically helpless in the face of this unlooked-for display
of ruffianism.
But while the unexpected was happening in the Park, the more or less
expected had come to pass not far away. Sir John Westwood lived in Hill
Street, and it had been his fate, as representing the Government, to
incur the resentment of the masses by bringing into the House a Sunday
Trading Bill of somewhat drastic character. The people--particularly
the East-enders--were savage at the attempt to close the public-houses
on the first day of the week, and jeered at the suggestion that they
should go to church as an alternative resort.
On the Saturday evening, a handbill was widely circulated in the lower
quarters of the capital. This was how it ran:
LET US GO TO CHURCH
WITH SIR JOHN WESTWOOD TO-MORROW.
AFTERWARDS THERE WILL BE A
GRAND OPEN-AIR FÊTE AND MONSTER
CONCERT IN HYDE PARK.
COME AND SEE HOW RELIGIOUSLY
LONDON SOCIETY OBSERVES THE SABBATH.
Thus it came about that a crowd of many hundreds gathered in front
of the Solicitor-General’s house, and held their ground obstinately,
notwithstanding the persuasive efforts of a small body of police to
move them on. No actual violence was used by the crowd, but their
groans, yells, and persistent clamour were sufficiently alarming.
To Aldwyth Westwood, a girl of spirit, the demonstration caused more
indignation than fear. Her chief concern was for her father. Sir John
had now recovered to some extent from his strange condition of physical
inertness on the previous day. Silent, but manifestly disturbed, he
sat in his study at the back of the house, compelled to listen to the
tumult of execration directed against him in the street. He was for
drastic measures with the mob, but the divisional superintendent was
either timid or discreet. He met the angry inquiry whether London was
to be at the mercy of a hooting mob, by saying that he had no orders to
resort to force to clear the street, and that patience and time were
the best remedies, so long as no actual violence was attempted. The
Solicitor-General acquiesced with a contemptuous shrug; as also in the
advice that the front shutters should be closed, and the frightened
servants directed not to show themselves.
Stolid and calm, the police stood on the doorsteps, and in the area,
while the roughs shouted themselves hoarse. At the end of a couple of
hours came news that things were growing lively near the Serpentine;
and thereupon, nearly half the Hill Street crowd hastened to the Park
in search of something fresh and more exciting. Hastily, but still not
sufficiently, reinforced, the police now attempted to check the conduct
of the crowd, which had already driven all but a few of the pluckier
carriage people homeward. Many of the most disorderly characters had
now mustered near the Royal Humane Society’s Receiving House. A body
of police, with truncheons drawn, marched along the drive to clear it
of pedestrians. Those who would not give way were pushed or roughly
handled. The same tactics were pursued on the footpath on the south
side of the Serpentine, and here much confusion and excitement arose,
many persons being forced ankle-deep into the water. Women, who had
got mixed with the crowd, screamed with terror. The wail of frightened
children filled the air, and angry cries were raised against the
constables, some of whom were struck by stones and clods of earth.
At the same time, some fifty constables, under Superintendent
Helden, reached Grosvenor Gate. There, the men were formed in a
column of sections of ten, having a front of five men, and marched
towards a threatening section of the mob. Instead of retiring, the
people received the police defiantly and with an angry yell. The
superintendent shouted to them to give way, but the warning was
disregarded. Suddenly some one tripped him up. He fell and hurt his
knee; and, thus provoked, the men with drawn truncheons rushed forward,
and, without orders, attacked the crowd. A savage _melée_ was the
result. From that moment there were conflicts of a similar character
throughout the Park. Reinforcements of police were hurried up, and
further conflicts followed. So grave did the situation become as the
evening hours drew on that large reserves of constables were mustered
at Stanhope Gate, the Triumphal Arch, the Marble Arch, and Walton
Street, and in Lowndes Square.
Ere darkness fell the Humane Society’s Receiving House became a
temporary prison; a riotous mob demanded the release of their friends,
and there were many ugly rushes, repelled with difficulty by the
police. Cabs now were sent for, and seventy persons, charged with
assaults, disorderly conduct, and resisting the police, were removed,
amid a storm of angry cries, to the Police stations. By nine o’clock
the Park was cleared.
Thus ended the first skirmish in the campaign of the Leaguers of London
against the forces of law and order.