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near London they met； in the grey light of morning； more than one
poor Catholic family who； terrified by the threats and warnings of
their neighbours； were quitting the city on foot； and who told them
they could hire no cart or horse for the removal of their goods； and
had been compelled to leave them behind； at the mercy of the
crowd。 Near Mile End they passed a house； the master of which； a
Catholic gentleman of small means； having hired a waggon to
remove his furniture by midnight； had had it all brought down into
the street； to wait the vehicle’s arrival； and save time in the
packing。 But the man with whom he made the bargain； alarmed
by the fires that night； and by the sight of the rioters passing his
door； had refused to keep it： and the poor gentleman； with his wife
and servant and their little children； were sitting trembling among
their goods in the open street； dreading the arrival of day and not
knowing where to turn or what to do。
It was the same； they heard； with the public conveyances。 The
panic was so great that the mails and stage…coaches were afraid to
carry passengers who professed the obnoxious religion。 If the
drivers knew them； or they admitted that they held that creed；
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they would not take them； no； though they offered large sums； and
yesterday； people had been afraid to recognise Catholic
acquaintance in the streets； lest they should be marked by spies；
and burnt out； as it was called； in consequence。 One mild old
man—a priest； whose chapel was destroyed； a very feeble； patient；
inoffensive creature—who was trudging away； alone； designing to
walk some distance from town； and then try his fortune with the
coaches； told Mr Haredale that he feared he might not find a
magistrate who would have the hardihood to commit a prisoner to
jail； on his complaint。 But notwithstanding these discouraging
accounts they went on； and reached the Mansion House soon after
sunrise。
Mr Haredale threw himself from his horse； but he had no need
to knock at the door； for it was already open； and there stood upon
the step a portly old man； with a very red； or rather purple face；
who with an anxious expression of countenance； was
remonstrating with some unseen personage upstairs； while the
porter essayed to close the door by degrees and get rid of him。
With the intense impatience and excitement natural to one in his
condition； Mr Haredale thrust himself forward and was about to
speak； when the fat old gentleman interposed：
‘My good sir；’ said he； ‘pray let me get an answer。 This is the
sixth time I have been here。 I was here five times yesterday。 My
house is threatened with destruction。 It is to be burned down to…
night； and was to have been last night； but they had other business
on their hands。 Pray let me get an answer。’
‘My good sir；’ returned Mr Haredale； shaking his head； ‘my
house is burned to the ground。 But heaven forbid that yours
should be。 Get your answer。 Be brief； in mercy to me。’
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‘Now； you hear this； my lord？’—said the old gentleman； calling
up the stairs； to where the skirt of a dressing…gown fluttered on the
landing…place。 ‘Here is a gentleman here； whose house was
actually burnt down last night。’
‘Dear me； dear me；’ replied a testy voice； ‘I am very sorry for it；
but what am I to do？ I can’t build it up again。 The chief magistrate
of the city can’t go and be a rebuilding of people’s houses； my good
sir。 Stuff and nonsense！’
‘But the chief magistrate of the city can prevent people’s houses
from having any need to be rebuilt； if the chief magistrate’s a man；
and not a dummy—can’t he； my lord？’ cried the old gentleman in a
choleric manner。
‘You are disrespectable； sir；’ said the Lord Mayor—‘leastways；
disrespectful I mean。’
‘Disrespectful； my lord！’ returned the old gentleman。 ‘I was
respectful five times yesterday。 I can’t be respectful for ever。 Men
can’t stand on being respectful when their houses are going to be
burnt over their heads； with them in ’em。 What am I to do； my
lord？ Am I to have any protection！’
‘I told you yesterday； sir；’ said the Lord Mayor； ‘that you might
have an alderman in your house； if you could get one to come。’
‘What the devil’s the good of an alderman？’ returned the
choleric old gentleman。
‘—To awe the crowd； sir；’ said the Lord Mayor。
‘Oh Lord ha’ mercy！’ whimpered the old gentleman； as he
wiped his forehead in a state of ludicrous distress； ‘to think of
sending an alderman to awe a crowd！ Why； my lord； if they were
even so many babies； fed on mother’s milk； what do you think
they’d care for an alderman！ Will you come？’
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‘I！’ said the Lord Mayor； most emphatically： ‘Certainly not。’
‘Then what；’ returned the old gentleman； ‘what am I to do？ Am
I a citizen of England？ Am I to have the benefit of the laws？ Am I
to have any return for the King’s taxes？’
‘I don’t know； I am sure；’ said the Lord Mayor； ‘what a pity it is
you’re a Catholic！ Why couldn’t you be a Protestant； and then you
wouldn’t have got yourself into such a mess？ I’m sure I don’t know
what’s to be done。—There are great people at the bottom of these
riots。—Oh dear me； what a thing it is to be a public character！—
You must look in again in the course of the day。—Would a javelin…
man do？—Or there’s Philips the constable；—he’s disengaged；—
he’s not very old for a man at his time of life； except in his legs；
and if you put him up at a window he’d look quite young by
candle…light； and might frighten ’em very much。—Oh dear！—