The Mysteries of London Volume 1

by Reynolds, George W. M.

  “Shall I give the necessary instructions for the inquiry, my lord?” asked the Secretary.

  “Inquiry!” repeated the Minister: “are you mad? Do you really imagine that I shall be foolish enough to permit any inquiry at all? Such a step would be almost certain to end in substantiating the pauper’s charge against the master; and then there would be a clamour from one end of the country to the other against the New Poor Laws. We must smother all such affairs whenever we can; but by writing to say that the fullest inquiries shall be instituted, I shall be armed with a reply to any member who might happen to bring the case before Parliament. My answer to the charge would then be that her Majesty’s Government had instituted a full inquiry into the matter, and had ascertained that the pauper was a quarrelsome, obstreperous, and disorderly person, who was not to be believed upon his oath.”

  “True, my lord,” said the Secretary, evidently struck by this display of ministerial wisdom. “The next letter, my lord, is from a clerk in the Tax Office, Somerset House. He complains that his income is too small, and that the Commissioners of Taxes refuse to augment it. He states in pretty plain terms, that unless he receives an augmentation, he shall not hesitate to publish the fact, that the Dividend Books of the Bank of England are removed to the Tax-Office every six months, in order that an account of every fundholder’s stock in the government securities may be taken for the information of the Treasury and the Tax Commissioners: he adds that such an announcement would convulse the whole nation with alarm at the awful state of espionnage under which the people exist; and he states these grounds as a reason for purchasing his silence by means of an increase of salary.”

  “This is serious—very serious,” said the Minister: “but the letter should have been addressed to the Chancellor of the Exchequer. You must enclose it to my colleague.”

  “Yes, my lord,” replied the Secretary.

  At this moment a gentle knock was heard at the door of the apartment.

  The Secretary hastened to respond to the summons, and admitted two persons dressed in plain but decent attire. One was a short, stout, red-faced, consequential-looking man: the other was a tall, raw-boned, ungainly person, and seemed quite confounded at the presence in which he found himself.

  The former of these individuals was an inspector of police: the latter was a common police-officer. Indeed, the reader has been already introduced to them, in the fourteenth chapter of this narrative.

  Having ushered these individuals into the room, the private secretary hastened to breathe a few words in an under tone to the ear of his master.

  “Oh! these are the men, are they?” said the Minister aloud.

  “Yes, my lord,” replied the Secretary; then, addressing the police-officers, he exclaimed, “Step forward, my men—step forward. There—that’s right: now sit down at that side of the table, and let the one who can write best make notes of the instructions that will be immediately given to you.”

  Both the Minister and Secretary were cautious enough not to give those instructions in their own handwriting.

  The men sate down, as they were desired; and the inspector whispered to his companion an order to assume the duties of amanuensis on the occasion.

  “You are aware, my good fellows,” said the Minister, “that there is to be a great political meeting to-morrow evening somewhere in Bethnal Green?”

  “Yes, my lord,” replied the inspector.

  “It is necessary to the purposes of her Majesty’s Government,” continued the Minister, “that discredit should be thrown upon all political meetings where very liberal sentiments are enunciated.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said the inspector. “Shall Crisp put that down, my lord?”

  “There is no necessity to make a note of my observations, only of my instructions,” answered the Minister, with a smile. “The best method of throwing discredit upon those meetings is to create a disturbance. You, Mr. Inspector, will therefore take care and have at least a dozen of your men in plain clothes at the assembly to-morrow evening.”

  “Yes, my lord. Put that down, Crisp.”

  “You will direct your men, Mr. Inspector, to applaud most vehemently all the inflammatory parts of the speeches made upon the occasion.”

  “Yes, my lord. Put that down, Crisp.”

  “You will contrive that Mr. Crisp, whom my secretary states to be a proper man for the purpose, shall himself make a speech to-morrow evening.”

  “Yes, my lord. Put that down, Crisp.”

  “This speech must be of the most violent and inflammatory kind: it must advocate the use of physical force, denounce the aristocracy, the government, and the parliament in the most blood-thirsty terms; it need not even spare her most gracious Majesty. Let the cry be Blood; and let your men, Mr. Inspector, applaud with deafening shouts, every period in this incendiary harangue.”

  “Yes, my lord. Put that down, Crisp.”

  “The well-disposed portion of the audience will remonstrate. Your men in plain clothes can thus readily pick a quarrel; and a quarrel may be easily made to lead to blows. Then let a posse of constables in uniform rush in, and lay about them with their bludgeons most unsparingly. The more broken heads and limbs, the better. Be sure to have some of the audience taken into custody; and on the following morning, appear against them before the police-magistrate.”

  “Yes, my lord. Put that down, Crisp.”

  “You will take especial care to denounce the individuals so captured, as the ringleaders of the riot, and the ones who made themselves most conspicuous in applauding the inflammatory speeches uttered on the occasion—especially those which advocated rebellion, bloodshed, and death to monarchy and aristocracy.”

  “Yes, my lord. Put that down, Crisp.”

  “If the magistrate asks you—as he will be certain to do,” continued the Minister, “whether you are acquainted with the prisoners at the bar, you can say that they are well known to the police as most dangerous and disorderly characters.”

  “Yes, my lord. Put that down, Crisp.”

  “You see,” said the Minister, turning towards his own private secretary, “it is ten to one that the individuals so arrested will be respectable tradesmen; and as they will thus obtain a taste of the treadmill (for we must send our private instructions to the magistrates at Lambeth Street, to that effect) the warning will be a most salutary one throughout the whole district—especially at a moment when the Spitalfields weavers are reduced to desperation by their dreadfully distressed condition.”

  “Of course, my lord,” replied the Secretary. “Such a proceeding will sicken men of political meetings. Has your lordship any farther instructions for these officers?”

  “None,” said the Minister. “I may, however, add, that if they acquit themselves well in this respect, the inspector shall become a superintendent, and the constable a serjeant.”

  “Thank your lordship,” exclaimed the inspector. “You may put that down, too, Crisp—and express your gratitude to his lordship for his kindness.”

  Mr. Crisp acted in all respects as he was desired; and having each made an awkward bow, the two officers retired.

  “Now proceed with the correspondence,” said the Minister.

  “Yes, my lord,” replied the Secretary. “Here is a letter from the mayor of ——, stating that the experiment of making the prisoners, tried and untried, who are confined in the gaol of that town, wear black masks whenever they are compelled to mingle together, works well. The mayor moreover states, that out of two hundred prisoners subjected to the solitary system, since the introduction of the plan into the gaol, only nineteen have gone mad, and of those only three have died raving. He therefore recommends the solitary system. He adds that all personal identity is now destroyed in the prison, and prisoners are known by numbers instead of by their names. He concludes by inquiring whether these
regulations shall continue in force?”

  “Most assuredly,” answered the Minister. “Make a note that a reply is to be sent to that effect. I am glad the system of solitary confinement, black cloth masks, and numbers instead of names, works well. I shall gradually apply it to every criminal prison in England. At the same time, I must endeavour to throw the odium of the introduction of that system upon the justices in quarter sessions assembled—in case I should be assailed on the subject in the House.”

  “Certainly, my lord. This letter is from the secret agent, sent down to Manchester to inquire into the constitution and principles of the Independent Order of Rechabites. He obtained admission into a lodge, and was regularly initiated a member of the Brotherhood. He finds that the Rechabites are about eighty thousand in number, having lodges in all the great cities and towns of England, with the head-quarters at Manchester. The Order is not political; but is formed of sections of the Teetotal Societies. The government need not entertain any fears of this combination. The agent sends up a detailed account of the secrets and signs connected with the Order, accompanied by a copy of the rules and regulations.”

  “These Teetotalers must not be encouraged. They are seriously injuring the Excise-revenues. Proceed.”

  “This letter, my lord, is from the principal agent sent down into the mining districts, to encourage a spirit of discontent amongst the pitmen. He says that he has no doubt of being enabled to produce a disturbance in the north, and thus afford your lordship the wished-for opportunity of sending more troops in that direction. When once over-awed by the presence of a formidable number of bayonets, the pitmen will be compelled to submit to the terms dictated by the coal-mine proprietors; and your lordship’s aims will be thus accomplished.”

  “I am glad of that. The coal-mine proprietors are rich and influential men, whom it is necessary to conciliate,” said the Minister. “What next?”

  “Here is a letter, my lord,” continued the Secretary, “from Sir Joseph Gosborne, stating that his daughter, Miss Gosborne, was taken into custody yesterday morning on an accusation of stealing a jar of anchovies from an oilman’s shop. The magistrate refused to take bail, and remanded the young lady until next Monday. Sir Joseph is anxious that his daughter should be admitted to bail, because, in that case, should he fail to settle with the prosecutor, he can keep his daughter out of the way when the day of trial arrives, and pay the money for the estreated recognizances. He is moreover desirous that the case should be sent to the Sessions, because, if by any accident the matter should go to trial, a verdict of acquittal is certain at the hands of a Clerkenwell jury, but by no means sure with an Old Bailey one.”

  “Make a memorandum to write to the magistrate who will hear the case next Monday, to take bail—moderate bail, mind—and to refer the matter to the Sessions. We must not refuse to oblige Sir Joseph Gosborne.”

  While the private secretary was still writing, a servant entered and informed the Minister that Mr. Teynham was waiting, and solicited an audience.

  “Ah! the new magistrate at Marlborough Street,” exclaimed the Home Secretary. “Show him in.”

  Mr. Teynham, a middle-aged gentleman attired in black, was introduced accordingly. He bowed very low to the Minister, and, when desired to take a chair, obsequiously seated himself upon the very edge.

  “I have recommended you to Her Majesty, Mr. Teynham,” said the Minister, “as a fit and proper person to fill the situation of police-magistrate and justice of the peace at the Marlborough Street Court; and her Majesty has been most graciously pleased to confirm the appointment.”

  Mr. Teynham bowed very low, and became entangled in a labyrinth of acknowledgments, with which “deep gratitude”—“sense of duty”—“impartial distribution of justice,” and such like phrases were blended.

  “It is necessary,” said the Minister, after a pause, “that I should give you a few instructions with respect to the functions upon which you are about to enter. You are aware, Mr. Teynham, that the young gentlemen of the aristocracy are occasionally addicted to wrenching off knockers, pulling down bells, and other innocent little pranks of a similar nature. These are delicate cases to deal with, Mr. Teynham;—but I need scarcely inform you that the treadmill is not for the aristocracy.”

  “I understand, my lord. A trifling fine, with a reprimand—and a little wholesome advice—”

  “Precisely, Mr. Teynham—precisely!” cried the Minister: “I see that you understand your business well. The nice discrimination which you possess will always teach you whether you have a gentleman to deal with, or not. If a low person choose to divert himself with aristocratic amusements, punish him—do not spare him—send him to the treadmill. In the same way that game is preserved for the sport of the upper classes, so must the knockers and the bells be saved from spoliation by the lower orders.”

  “I fully comprehend your lordship,” said the newly-made magistrate. “I should like, however, to know your lordship’s sentiments in one respect.”

  “Speak, Mr. Teynham,” said the Minister, with the most condescending affability, or the most affable condescension—whichever the reader likes best.

  “Suppose, my lord, that a young nobleman or well-born gentleman wrenches off a knocker, and throws it into the street; then suppose, my lord, that a poor man, passing by, picks up the knocker and carries it off to a marine-store dealer’s to sell it for old iron, in order to procure his family a meal; and then if your lordship will be kind enough to suppose that both those persons are brought up before me—the nobleman for wrenching off the knocker and throwing it away, and the poor man for picking it up and selling it,—how am I to act in such a case?”

  “Very ingenious—very ingenious, indeed, Mr. Teynham,”—said the Minister: “you will make an excellent magistrate! Your course in the case propounded is clear; the nobleman is fined five shillings for being drunk and disorderly—because all noblemen and gentlemen who wrench off knockers are drunk and disorderly; and the poor man must be committed to the House of Correction for three months. Nothing is plainer, Mr. Teynham.”

  “Nothing, my lord. Has your lordship any farther instructions?”

  “Oh! decidedly,” returned the Minister. “When any individual connected with a noble or influential family gets into a scrape, and is brought before you, hear the case in private, and exclude the reporters. Again, never commit such a person for trial, unless you are absolutely compelled. Let him go upon bail: it will be ten to one if you are ever troubled any more with the case. There is another point to which I must direct your attention. The practice of shoplifting among ladies has increased lately to a fearful degree. But, after all, it is only a little eccentricity—indeed one might almost call it an amiable weakness. The fact is, that many ladies will go into a shop, purchase a hundred-guinea shawl, and secrete an eighteen-penny pair of gloves. Prudent husbands and fathers avert the tradesman, with whom their wives and daughters deal, beforehand; and these trifling abstractions are duly entered in the running accounts; but now and then a lady does get taken up. In such a case you must show her every possible distinction. Order her a chair in the dock; and before the business comes on, permit her to remain with her friends in the ‘magistrates’ private room.’ Then, if the prosecutor hesitates in giving his evidence, fly into a passion, tell him that he is prevaricating and not worthy to be believed upon his oath, and indignantly dismiss the case. The accused lady can then step into her carriage, and drive off comfortably home.”

  “Your lordship’s instructions shall be complied with to the very letter,” said Mr. Teynham.

  “In a word,” continued the Minister, “you must always shield the upper classes as much as possible; and in order to veil their little peccadilloes, bring out the misdeeds of the lower orders in the boldest relief. This is the only way to support the doctrine that the poor must be governed by the rich. Whenever young boys or girls appear as
witnesses, ask them if they know the value of an oath; and if they reply in the negative, expatiate upon the frightful immorality prevalent among the poorer classes, so that the reporters may record your observations. This does good—and enables the Bishops to make long speeches in the House of Lords on the necessity of religious instruction, and the want of more churches. If you attend to these remarks of mine, Mr. Teynham, you will make an excellent magistrate.”

  “Your lordship may rely upon me,” was the submissive answer.

  “There is one more point—I had almost forgotten it,” said the Home Secretary. “You must invariably take the part of the police. Remember that the oath of one police-officer is worth the oaths of a dozen defendants. This only applies to the collision of the police with the lower orders, mind. As a general rule, remember that the police are always in the right when the poor are concerned, and always in the wrong when the rich are brought before you. And now, Mr. Teynham, I have nothing more to say.”

  The newly-made magistrate rose, bowed several times, and withdrew, walking obsequiously upon the points of his toes for fear his boots should creak in the awful presence of the Home Secretary.

  But if “his worship” were thus meek and lowly before his patron, he afterwards avenged himself for that constraint, when seated in the magisterial chair, upon the poor devils that appeared before him!

  The private secretary was about to proceed with the correspondence addressed from different quarters to the Minister, when a servant entered the room, and placed a card upon the table before this great officer of state.

  “The Earl of Warrington?” said the Minister. “I will receive him.”

  The servant withdrew, and the private secretary retired to an inner apartment.

  In a few moments the Earl of Warrington was announced.