Chippinge Borough

"And teach Wetherell a lesson!" someone in the background muttered.

The man spoke low, but Cooke heard the words and wheeled about. "There, sir, there!" he cried, stuttering in his indignation. "What do you say to that? Here, in your presence, the King's Judge is insulted. But I warn you," he continued, "I warn you all! You are playing with fire! You are laughing in your sleeves, but you'll cry in your shirts! You, Mr. Mayor, I call upon you to do your duty! I call upon you to summon the military and give the order to clear the streets before worse comes of it."

"I don't-I really don't-think that it is necessary," the Mayor answered pacifically. "I have seen as bad as this at half a dozen elections, Mr. Cooke."

The Town-clerk, a tall, thin man, who still wore his gown though he had laid aside his wig, struck in. "Quite true, Mr. Mayor!" he said. "The fact is, the crowd thinks itself hardly used on these occasions if it is not allowed to break the windows and do a little mischief on the lower floor."

"By G-d, I'd teach it a lesson then!" Cooke retorted. "It seems to me it is time someone did!"

Two or three expressed the same opinion, though they did so with less decision. But the main part smiled at Cooke's heat as at a foolish display of temper. "I've seen as much half a dozen times," said one, shrugging his shoulders. "And no harm done!"

"I've seen worse!" another answered. "And after all," the speaker added with a wink, "it is good for the glaziers."

Fortunately, Cooke did not hear this last. But Vaughan heard it, and he judged that the rioters had their backers within as well as without; and that within, as without, the notion prevailed that the Government would not be best pleased if the movement were too roughly checked. An old proverb about the wisdom of dealing with the beginnings of mischief occurred to him. But he supposed that the authorities knew their business and Bristol, and, more correctly than he, could gauge the mob and the danger, of both of which they made so light.

Still he wondered. And he wondered more three minutes later. Two servants brought in lights. Unfortunately the effect of these was to reveal the interior of the room to the mob, and the change was the signal for a fusillade of stones so much more serious and violent than anything which had gone before that a quick sauve qui peut took place. Vaughan was dislodged with the others-he could do no good by remaining; and in two minutes the room was empty, and the mob were celebrating their victory with peals of titanic laughter, accompanied by fierce cries of "Throw him out! Throw out the d-d Recorder! Reform!"

Meanwhile the company, with one broken head and one or two pale faces, had taken refuge on the landing behind the drawing-room, the stairs ascending to which were guarded by a reserve of constables. Vaughan saw that the Mayor and his satellites were beginning to look at one another, and leaning, quietly observant, against the wall, he noticed that more than one was shaken. Still the little Mayor retained his good-humour. "Oh, dear, dear!" he said indulgently. "This is too bad! Really too bad!"

"We'd better go upstairs," Sergeant Ludlow, the Town-clerk, suggested. "We can see what passes as well from that floor as from this, and with less risk!"

"No, but really this is growing serious," a third said timidly. "It's too bad, this."

He had scarcely spoken, and the Mayor was still standing undecided, as if he did not quite like the idea of retreat, when two persons, one with his head bandaged, came quickly up the stairs. "Where's the Mayor?" cried the first. And then, "Mr. Mayor, they are pushing us too hard," said the second, an officer of special constables. "We must have help, or they will pull the house about our ears."

"Oh, nonsense!"

"But it's not nonsense, sir," the man answered angrily.

"But-"

"You must read the Riot Act, sir," the other, who was the Under-Sheriff, chimed in. "And the sooner the better, Mr. Mayor," he added with decision. "We've half a dozen men badly hurt. In my opinion you should send for the military."

The group on the landing looked aghast at one another. What, danger? Really-danger? Half a dozen men badly hurt? Then one made an effort to carry it off. "Send for the military?" he gasped. "Oh, but that is absurd! That would only make matters worse!"

The others did not speak, and the Mayor in particular looked upset. Perhaps for the first time he appreciated the responsibility which lay on his shoulders. Meanwhile Vaughan saw all; and Cooke also, and the latter laughed maliciously. "Perhaps you will listen now," he said with an ill-natured chuckle. "You would not listen to me!"

"Dear, dear," the Mayor quavered. "Is it really as serious as that, Mr. Hare?" He turned to the Town-clerk. "What do you advise?" he asked.

"I think with Mr. Hare that you had better read the Riot Act, sir."

"Very well, I'll come down! I'll come down at once," the Mayor assented with spirit. "Only," he continued, looking round him, "I beg that some gentleman known to be on the side of Reform, will come with me. Who has the Riot Act?"

"Mr. Burges. Where is he?"

"I am here, sir," replied the gentleman named. "I am quite ready, Mr. Mayor. If you will say a few words to the crowd; I am sure they will listen. Let us go down!"

* * * * *

Twenty minutes later the same group, but with disordered clothes and sickly faces-and as to Mr. Burges, with a broken head-were gathered again on the landing. In those twenty minutes, despite the magic of the Riot Act, the violence of the mob had grown rather than diminished. They were beginning to talk of burning the Mansion House, they were calling for straw, they were demanding lights. Darkness had fallen, too, and there could be no question now that the position was serious. The Mayor, who, below stairs, had shown no lack of courage, turned to the Town-clerk. "Ought I to call out the military?" he asked.

"I think that we should take Sir Charles Wetherell's opinion," the tall, thin man answered, deftly shifting the burden from his own shoulders.

"The sooner Sir Charles is gone the better, I should say!" Cooke said bluntly. "If we don't want to have his blood on our heads."

"I am with Mr. Cooke there," the Under-Sheriff struck in. He was responsible for the Judge's safety, and he spoke strongly. "Sir Charles should be got away," he continued. "That's the first thing to be done. He cannot hold the Assizes, and I say frankly that I will not be responsible if he stays."

"Jonah!" someone muttered with a sneering laugh.

The Mayor turned about. "That's very improper!" he said.

"It's very improper to send a Judge who is a politician!" the voice answered.

"And against the Bill!" a second jeered.

"For shame! For shame!" the Mayor cried.

"And I fancy, sir," the Under-Sheriff struck in with heat, "that the gentlemen who have just spoken-I think I can guess their names-will be sorry before morning! They will find that it is easier to kindle a fire than to put it out! But-silence, gentlemen! Silence! Here is Sir Charles!"

Wetherell had that moment opened the door of his private room, of which the window looked to the back. His face betrayed his surprise on finding twenty or thirty persons huddled in disorder at the head of the stairs. The two lights which had survived the flight from the drawing-room flared in the draught of the shattered windows, and the wavering illumination gave a sinister cast to the scene. The dull rattle of stones on the floor of the rooms exposed to the Square-varied at times by a roar of voices or a rush of feet in the hall below-suggested that the danger was near at hand, and that the assailants might at any moment break into the building.

Nevertheless Sir Charles showed no signs of fear. After letting his eyes travel over the group, "How long is this going on, Mr. Under-Sheriff?" he asked, plunging his hands deep in his breeches pockets.

"Well, Sir Charles-"

"They seem," with a touch of sternness, "to be carrying the jest rather too far."

"Mr. Cooke," the Mayor said, "wishes me to call out the military."

Wetherell shook his head. "No, no," he said. "The occasion is not so serious as to justify that. You cannot say that life is in danger?"

The Under-Sheriff put himself forward. "I can say, sir," he answered firmly, "that yours is in danger. And in serious danger!"

Wetherell planted his feet further apart, and thrust his hands lower into his pockets. "Oh, no, no," he said.

"It is yes, yes, sir," the Under-Sheriff replied bluntly. "Unless you leave the house I cannot be responsible! I cannot, indeed, Sir Charles."

"But-"

"Listen, sir! If you don't wish a very terrible catastrophe to happen, you must go! By G-d you must!" the Under-Sheriff repeated, forgetting his manners.

The noise below had swollen suddenly. Cries, blows, and shrieks rose up the staircase, and announced that at any moment the party above might have to defend their lives. At the prospect suddenly presented, respect for dignities took flight; panic seized the majority. Constables, thrusting aldermen and magistrates aside, raced up the stairs, and bundled down again laden with beds with which to block the windows: while the picked men who had hitherto guarded the foot of the staircase left their posts in charge of two or three of the wounded, who groaned dismally. Apparently the mob had broken into part of the ground floor, and were with difficulty held at bay.

One of the party struck his hand on the balusters-it was Mr. Cooke. "By Heavens!" he said, "this is what comes of your d-d Reform! Your d-d Reform! We shall all be murdered, every man of us! Murdered!"

"For God's sake, Mr. Mayor," cried a quavering voice, "send for the military."

"Ay, ay! the soldiers. Send for the soldiers, sir!" echoed two or three.