VOCES POPULI.
Scene—Trafalgar Square. Several thousand loafers and roughs discovered asserting right of free speech, free meeting and free procession. A few hundred genuine artisans out of work standing about moodily. Lines of Policemen drawn up in reserve look on impassively.
A Lover of Liberty. As an Englishman, Sir, I’m disgusted—it’s un-English, that’s what it is, “dragooning” an inoffensive assembly like this! I used to think freedom of speech and action was the right of every Briton—but it seems we’re to be overawed by the Police now—confounded impertinence on the part of the Government, I call it!
“... The Leaders, H. George, and the man whose name was said to be Walker, put up their coat-collars and sneaked away under the trees.”—Newspaper Report.
An Orator (leaping suddenly on parapet). Feller Citizens, are you Men that you stand by with folded ’ands, while unlimited food and wealth lays within a stone’s throw? I want yer——
Constables (behind). Ah, and we want you—off you go!
[Disappearance of Orator in direction of Police-station.
Lover of Liberty. Shame! Is a man to be punished for his opinions? Oh, England, England!
Person in Search of Sensation (disappointedly). Well, there doesn’t seem much doing,—so far.
Squalid Vagabond (recognising Stalwart Constable, whom he has apparently met before in a professional capacity). ’Ow are yer, pretty bobbish?
[Nods to show he bears no malice.
Stalwart C. (good-humouredly). I’m much as usual, thankee.
Companion Constable (to S. C.). Well, you do know some rough ’uns, I must say!
Stalwart C. Go on—that gentleman’s a West-Ender.
Professional “Hook” (to line of Policemen). So you’re ’ere, are you? Well, me and my pal must take our little prominade some hother arternoon, that’s all!
Sympathiser (to Loafer). And so you’ve actually been out of employment since last January? Monstrous! The Government ought to find you work!
Loafer. Jes’ what I say, Guv’nor. Let ’em gimme work, and I’ll do it fast enough. I don’t want ter be idle. I ain’t on’y my one trade to earn my bread by—but I’ll work at that, if I’m let!
Sympathiser. Exactly, my poor fellow, and what is your trade?
Loafer. Why, I’m a skate-fastener, I am; puts on parties’ skates for ’em,—and ’ere I am—not ’ad a job for months!
Truculent Ruffian (to Quiet Observer). Hunimployed?
Quiet Obs. Yes—at present.
T. R. Too many o’ them bloomin’ Coppers about, to my mind—I’d like to slug the lot—they’re the ruin of our bisness!
Quiet Obs. Ah, you’re right there!
Demagogue (to Police Sergeant). Now, don’t you interfere—that’s all I ask. I’ll speak to them—I have them thoroughly in hand just now, but, if you offer them the least opposition, I—(with much solemnity) well, I won’t be responsible for what happens. (He is allowed to address the multitude.) Friends, you are met here in this peaceful but imposing manner in the teeth of a brutal and overbearing Constabulary, to show the bloated Capitalists, who are now trembling behind their tills, that we mean to be taken seriously! Yes, in our squalor and our rags——
[Throws open frock-coat, and displays thick gold watch-chain.
Mob. Yah, pitch us over yer red slang! take orf that ere nobby coat! Harristocrat! Yah!
Dem. (complacently). It is true that I myself am not in absolute destitution.—But what of that, my friends? Can I not feel——
[Here a turnip strikes him in the eye. Yells of “Down with him!” “Duck him!” “Spy!” “Traitor!” Mob pulls him down and attempts to take him to pieces.
Dem. (faintly). Here, hi, Policemen, help! Why the devil don’t you use your staves? [Is rescued and assisted home by Police.
A Rough (to Policeman). Keep moving? ah, I’ll move! [Kicks him on the knee-cap. Policeman draws truncheon and hits back.
Crowd (indignantly). Boo! Coward! Strikin’ a unarmed man—down with ’im! [They beat brutal Constable to a jelly.
The Truculent Ruffian (to Quiet Obs.) Are you game for a merry ole lark?
Quiet Obs. You try me—that’s all!
T. R. Then, as them cowards of cops ’ave as much on their ’ands as they kin do with, now’s the time for a bit of a loot! Pass the word to them mates o’ yourn—“Pall Mall and no tyranny!”
Quiet Obs. I’ve done it—they’re only waiting for you.
T. R. (suddenly producing red handkerchief). There—now, boys! “Remember Mitchelstown and no brutal perlice!” Foller me!
Quiet Obs. (arresting him). No, you’ll follow us, please—you won’t do no good kicking, all right, mates, we’ve got him.
T. R. Oh, please, I didn’t know you was a Policeman, Sir, or I shouldn’t ha’ spoke! Strike me dead I was on’y in fun! (Whimpers.) And I’ve a good ole mother at ’ome, Sir.
The Person in Search of Sensation. What, another arrest? and simply for showing a red handkerchief! I shall write and describe these atrocities. How abominably these police are behaving—actually defending themselves, the blackguards!
[A Policeman accidentally lifts his arm, whereupon about fifty youths scurry like rabbits; in the rush, the Person in search of Sensation is hustled and slightly trampled on. He becomes annoyed, and hits out right and left—eventually striking a Constable in his excitement.
Const. (who has been without sleep for the last two days and has just had his cheek laid open by a stone). ’Ere, you come along with me, you’re one of the wust, you are!
The Person. But I assure you, I just came to see what there was to be seen!
Const. Well, you come along with me, and you’ll see a Magistrit presently.
[The Person resists; struggle; arrival of reinforcements; exit party, in “frog’s-marching” order, conveying him to fresh sensations.
The Lover of Liberty (emerging from crush). My hat ruined, my coat split down the back, and my watch gone! I told the crowd I was with them heart and soul—and they hit me in the stomach! What do we keep our police for, I want to know?
Professional (emerging in opposite direction). Three red clocks, two pusses, and a white slang, I ain’t done so dusty! ’Ooray for the right o’ Free Meetin’, I sez!
Genuine Unemployed (wearily). Well, I dunno as I see what good all this ’ere is a goin’ to do hus! [And no more does Mr. Punch.