Mr. Wigsby, the Master of the Free School, has declared on the side of Liberty, and has obtained an audience of the Mayor. He is to return in fifteen minutes for his Worship’s decision.
Half past Twelve.
During the interval, the Mayor has sworn in two special constables, and will concede nothing. When the excitement of the mob was represented to him by Mr. Wigsby, he pointed to a truncheon on a table and answered, “They may do their worsest.” The exasperation is awful—the most frightful cries are uttered, “Huzza for Guys! Gubbins for ever! and no Higginbottom!” The military has been ordered to clear the streets, but his lock is not flinty enough, and his gun refuses to fire on the people.
* * * * * *
The constables have just obtained a slight advantage; they made a charge altogether, and almost upset a Guy. On the left-hand side of the way they have been less successful; Mr. Huggins, the beadle, attempted to take possession of an important street post, but was repulsed by a boy with a cracker. At the same moment Mr. Blogg, the churchwarden, was defeated in a desperate attempt to force a passage up a court.
One o’clock.
The military always dines at one, and has retreated to the Pig and Puncheon. There is a report that the head constable is taken with all his staff.
Two o’clock.
A flying watchman has just informed us that the police are victorious on all points, and the same has been confirmed by a retreating constable. He states that the Pound is full—Gubbins in the stocks, and Dobbs in the cage. That the whole mob would have been routed, but for a very corpulent man, who rallied them on running away.
