The constables advanced and laid hold of Sir
Francis.

Mr. Jones Burdett and Mr. O'Connor
instantly stepped up, and each took an arm of the
prisoner. The constables closed in on all three,
and drew them down-stairs, Sir Francis
protesting, in the king's name, against the violation
of his person and of his house. " It is superior
force only," he said, " that hurries me out of it,
and you do it at your peril." The ladies,
confident in Burdett's temper, showed no alarm.
The baronet, a sergeant, a constable, and Mr.
Jones Burdett stepped into the coach. Mr.
O'Connor was held back. The cavalry closed
round the coach, and the cavalcade swept off
at a rapid pace.

The spell was at last broken — the bird was
caught — the matter was over. En route for
the Tower, two squadrons of the 15th Light
Dragoons and two troops of Life Guards, with a
magistrate at their head, trotted first; after the
coach clattered two more troops of Life Guards
and a troop of Dragoons; while there tramped
after them, with fixed bayonets, two battalions
of Foot Guards in open order, a party of
Dragoons bringing up the rear. The Foot
Guards, however, wheeled off at the Haymarket,
and passed down the Strand towards the Tower.

The cavalcade took a wary way round,
passing across Hanover-square, and round
the New-road to Islington, the City-road to
Moorfields, Aldgate, and the Minories. The
people, not having yet assembled in Piccadilly,
were not aware of the capture till the coach and
soldiers had got nearly to Conduit-street.
Then a shout was raised that ran fast from street
to street:

"They have taken him! They have dragged
him out of his house!"

The streets were in a moment in an uproar.
The human deluge rolled and roared from
Charing-cross to the Minories. Round the
Tower it soon became impossible for either cart
or carriage to pass. Faces grew menacing.
There was thunder in the air; for the very
thought of oppression invariably maddens
Englishmen.

At five minutes before twelve, a moving mass
of scarlet appeared on Tower-hill. It was the
Foot Guards, three deep, who drew up before
the Tower gates, headed by the City marshal
and a civil officer. Ten minutes past twelve, an
officer of the 15th Light Dragoons came dashing
out from Jewry-street by the Trinity House,
waving his hand for the people to clear a way.
The mob shouted, rolled to and fro, and then
ran. Five minutes after, twenty Horse Guards
cantered up to the Tower gates; a hundred
yards behind rode three hundred Light
Dragoons; then came two hundred Horse Guards
gleaming with polished steel; and in the midst
of them the coach, containing the State prisoner,
followed by two hundred more Dragoons.
The windows were down, and Sir Francis sat
forward at the back on the right, visible to all.
There was no resistance, no efforts at rescue.
With constables, there would have been no
irritation, but the English blood rose when the
Horse Guards slashed the air with their swords
to intimidate people who were doing nothing but
huzza. The line of steel and scarlet moved in
a crescent round Tower-hill, blocked up for half
an hour by the vast but by no means threatening
crowd. The imbecile delay in the arrest,
and the still more foolish menaces, were fast
producing mischief. The two squadrons of
Dragoons opened right and left, and, clearing the
ground in all directions, formed a circle two
deep round the entrance. Through this circle
of swords the coach and cavalcade passed with
no further interruption than shouts of " Burdett
for ever !" huzzas for the brave man and hoots
for the unnecessary soldiers. A few persons
getting inside the palings, pelted the cavalry,
who, in return, eager for blood, cut savagely at
them with their swords. Some of the mob were
driven by the horses into the Tower ditch, but
without receiving harm, as the water there,
though foul, was quite shallow.

About one o'clock Sir Francis alighted at the
gate, and was received by Earl Moira. The
gate was immediately shut, and, according to
custom, a cannon was fired to announce the
reception of a State prisoner. The people were
ready to ignite. The rumour ran at once
through the town that the Tower guns had been
fired on the people. Now, then, at last Mr.
Percival would have the pleasure of mowing
down a few troublesome opponents.

There is no question about how even a dangerous
mob should be treated. First the Riot Act,
and advancing lines of constables with staves,
then a march of foot-soldiers, without using
bayonets; an advance of cavalry, the horses pressing
quietly but firmly forward; then, if there
be still danger, blank cartridge and the flat
sides of swords, but only at the express command
of officers, and at intervals; last of all, when
lives are in danger, the edge and point of the
sword, the bayonet and the bullet, for as short
a period as possible. But in this case, a small
provocation, about a mere political trifle, these
armed men no doubt obeying previous commands,
dashed down upon an unarmed multitude, and
shot and slashed almost without control, and
with all the ferocity of a pitched battle. This was
the way such men as Percival and Castlereagh
always wreaked their rage at their own blunders.

The mud and stones began to fly; bruising
and annoying, but for the most part harmless.
Opposite the Trinity House the cavalry ran,
sword in hand, upon the multitude, with or
without order, and fired their carbines and
horse-pistols indiscriminately at the vast and
helpless throng. As usual, those who fell were
generally old people, women and harmless
bystanders. All the way up Fenchurch-street the
swords went to work, and the pistols and
carbines flashed and carried death. A fellowship
porter, taking refuge with Mr. Goodeve, a
bootmaker in Fenchurch-street, was mortally
wounded; a poor old bricklayer, who was
doing no harm, was shot through the neck,
and died on his way to the hospital. A