The River of Death | Page 9

one way to the
terror of the hour, it was not without a beneficent effect in another
direction. Under such a sky, and with a barometer somewhere in the
nineties, it was impossible for rioting to last long at a stretch.
The early hours of dawn saw London comparatively quiet again.
Perhaps it was no more than the sleep of exhaustion and sullen despair,
perhaps the flame might break out again with the coming of the day.
Down in the East End a constant struggle was maintained, a struggle
between the industrious and prudent and those who depended upon
luck or the power of the strong arm.
The day came again with the promise of another round of blazing hours.
At first there were no signs of lawlessness, nothing more than an eager
jostling stream of people pushing impatiently towards the districts
where water could be obtained. These were the folks who preferred to
get their own instead of waiting for the carts or tanks to visit them.
Naturally, the Press was full of good advice. Thousands of
correspondents had rushed into print with many a grotesque suggestion
for getting rid of the difficulty. Amongst these ingenious inventions
was one that immediately arrested popular attention. The writer pointed
out that there were other things to quench thirst besides water. There
were hundred of tons of fruit in London, it came up from the provinces
by the trainload every day, foreign vessels brought consignments to the
Thames and the Mersey. Let the Government pour all this into London
and distribute it free in a systematic way.
This letter appeared in three popular papers. The thing was talked about
from one end of London to the other. It was discussed in Whitechapel
and eagerly debated in the West End clubs.
Instantly the whole metropolis had a wild longing for fruit. Some of the
shops were cleared out directly at extraordinary prices. Grapes usually

sold at a shilling or two the pound now fetched twenty times their value.
A costermonger in the Strand with a barrow of oranges suddenly found
himself a comparatively rich man. Towards mid-day crowds began to
gather before the big fruit stores, and in the neighbourhood of Covent
Garden traffic was impossible.
Prices went leaping up as if fruit had become as extinct as the dodo.
Still the stuff came pouring in in response to urgent telegrams. It
looked as if the dealers were bent upon making a fortune out of the
public mood. Like lightning the news of what was happening flashed
over London, and gradually the approaches to Covent Garden were
packed with people.
Presently curiosity was followed by a sullen resentment. Who were
these men that they should be allowed to fatten on public misfortune?
These things ought to have been given away if only on the ground of
mere public policy. Through the crush came a waggon-load of baskets
and boxes. A determined-looking mechanic stopped the horses whilst
another man, amidst the yells of the crowd sprang to the top of the load
and whirled a basket of apples far and wide.
"You've got too heavy a load, matey," he said grimly to the driver.
The man grinned meaningly. He was benefiting nothing by the new
order of things. He took an apple and began to eat it himself. In a few
minutes every speck of fruit had disappeared.
The thing was done spontaneously and in perfect order. One moment
the market had been absolutely crammed with fruit of all kinds, an hour
afterwards it was empty.
It was a fairly good-humoured crowd, if a little grim, as yet. But the
authorities had serious faces, whilst quite half the police in streets
looked shy and out of place as well they might be seeing that several
thousand of them had been drafted into London from all parts of the
country. Towards midday a sport was added to the amusement of the
great mobs that packed the main streets. There was not the slightest

reason why all London should not be at work as usual, but, by mutual
consent, the daily toil had come to a standstill. It was grilling hot with a
sun that made the pavement gleam and tremble in the shimmering haze
and there was little to quench the thirst of the multitude. But then did
not London teem from end to end with places of public entertainment
where thirsts were specially catered for?
Already sections of the crowd had begun to enter them and call loudly
for sundry liquids. Why should the hotel proprietors get off scot free?
Mysteriously as the sign that called up the Indian Mutiny, the signal
went round to raid the public houses. There was no call to repeat it
twice.
Everybody suffered alike. The bars were choked and packed