They went their way quietly and efficiently, these new policemen, and, in spite of a few mistakes from over-zeal, soon conquered public esteem. The opposition died hard; dislike was fostered by satirical verse and the exaggerated exposure of small errors, and in 1833 the police came into collision with a mob at Coldbath Fields, when there was a serious and lamentable affray. But already the London vestries were won over. They had been most hostile to the new system, “as opposed to the free institutions of this country, which gave parish authorities the sole control in keeping and securing the peace.” They had denounced the new police as importing espionage totally repugnant to the habits and feelings of the British people, and subjecting them to “a disguised military force.” These protests formed part of a resolution arrived at by a conference of parishes, which also insisted that those who paid the cost should have the control. Yet a couple of years later these same vestries agreed that “the unfavourable impression and jealousy formerly existing against the new police is rapidly diminishing ... and that it has fully answered the purpose for which it was formed....” This conclusion was supported by some striking statistics. Crime appreciably diminished. The annual losses inflicted on the public by larcenies, burglaries, and highway robberies, which had been estimated at about a million of money, fell to £20,000, and at the same time a larger number of convictions was secured.
It is beyond the limits of this work to give a detailed account of the growth and gradual perfecting of the Metropolitan Police
into the splendid force that watches over the great city to-day. The total strength now, according to the last official returns, is nearly 16,000 of all ranks, and it has about quintupled since its first creation in 1829. The population of London at that date was just one million and a half; the area controlled by the new police not half the present size. Now not far short of 6,000,000 souls are included within the area supervised by our present Metropolitan force, measuring 688 square miles of territory, or some thirty miles across from any point of the circumference of a circle whose centre is at Charing Cross. Throughout the whole of this vast region, which constitutes the greatest human ant-heap the world has ever known, ever growing, too; the blue-coated guardian of the peace is incessantly on patrol, the total length of his beats reaching to about 850 miles. He is unceasingly engaged in duties both various and comprehensive in behalf of his fellow-citizens. By his active and intelligent watchfulness he checks and prevents the commission of crime, and if his vigilance
is unhappily sometimes eluded it is not because he is not eager to pursue and capture offenders. He is exposed to peculiar dangers in protecting the public, but accepts them unhesitatingly, risking his life gladly, and facing brutal and often murderous violence as bravely as any soldier in the breach. In the Whitechapel division, where roughs abound, a fifth of the police contingent in that quarter are injured annually on duty; 9 per cent. of the whole force goes on the sick list during the year from the result of savage assaults. A recent return of officers injured shows a total of 3,112 cases, and these include 2,717 assaults when making arrests, 89 injuries in stopping runaway, horses, 158 bites from dogs, and many injuries sustained in disorderly crowds or when assisting to extinguish fires. The regulation of street traffic is, everybody knows, admirably performed by the police, and they ably control all public carriages. The Lost Property Office is a police institution that renders much efficient service, and in a recent year over 38,000 articles which had been dropped, forgotten, or mislaid were received, and in most cases returned to their owners. They made up a very heterogeneous collection, and included all kinds of birds and live stock—parrots, canaries, larks, rabbits, dogs, and cats; there were books, bicycles, weapons, perambulators, mail carts, golf clubs, sewing machines, and musical instruments. In minor matters the police constable is a universal champion and knight errant. He escorts the softer sex across the crowded thoroughfare as gallantly as any squire of dames; it is a touching sight to watch the lost child walking trustfully hand in hand with the six-foot giant to some haven of safety. If in the West End the man in blue is sometimes on friendly terms with the cook, he is always alert in the silent watches of the night, trying locks and giving necessary warning; in poorer neighbourhoods he is the friend of the family, the referee in disputes, the kindly alarum clock that rouses out the early labourer. It may truly be said that London owes a deep debt of gratitude to its police.
No account, however brief and meagre, of the Metropolitan force would be complete which did not include some reference