CHAPTER XVII

THE GREAT FIRE IN HYDE PARK

Greatly moved by the evil things that had befallen London, and stung in some measure by the trenchant attacks appearing in the _Epoch_, a small band of London clergy who had recognised in this grave crisis a challenge to the Church, set themselves earnestly to alleviate the growing sufferings of their people. Among the most active and unconventional of this little band was Father Francis. His church--St Stephen’s--was the first that was made available for the definite purpose of checking the spread of the Dancing Mania by special prayer and meditation. The unhappy subjects of this repellent affliction were invited to seek the calm of the sacred buildings, and find in the contemplation of the sanctuary rest for their perturbed spirits, peace from the contagious excitement of the stifling streets. Strange scenes were sometimes witnessed in these churches--frequented as they came to be not merely by those who, already, had been drawn into the whirlpool of the mania, and vehemently desired to be preserved from a relapse, but thronged also by girls and women who, though hitherto unaffected, felt and feared they, too, could not long escape.

Outside, in the glare of day or in the shadow of night, tumultuous sounds would reach the ears of priests and suppliants. Nearer and nearer came the clangour of crude instruments of music; broken cries and bursts of hysterical laughter filled the outer air; the scuffling of the Dancers’ feet became more and more audible. Perhaps the direful medley came and passed without any of the Dancers entering the church. At other times they crowded in with loud discordant noises. But almost always these were soon subdued by the solemn stillness of the building, and the unmoved calm of kneeling men and women, already earnestly engaged in intercessory prayer. No set services were attempted after the first few experiments. It was found that sermons or addresses often stimulated feelings already over-excited, and that hymns produced uncontrollable emotion. But the church organs were put to constant use when it was discovered that music, especially music of a certain type, was marvellously potent in stilling the overwrought nerves of the Dancers and allaying the tendency to hysterical outbreaks.

This remarkable result of musical sounds recalled to many the recorded effects of the Italian tarantellas in counteracting the effect of poisonous spider-bites. Not only so, but it was whispered by the more credulous that spider-bites actually were the cause of the mania in its modern form, and that in this connection, the spider symbol of the Leaguers possessed a special and malignant meaning. That there were numerous instances of self-deception and of fraud was beyond all question. That, indeed, is a common experience among hysterical persons, and in this instance, as already intimated, the Dancers were largely recruited from classes predisposed to excitement and delusion--factory girls from the East End, workers in close, unhealthy surroundings, and great numbers who belonged to the painted sisterhood of the streets. Practically it was a form of insanity, and now for the first time the curative effect of music in the treatment of mental disease received something like systematic application. Music, of certain kinds, it was certain, excited to exhibition of the mania; music at the same time provided for many the virtue of an antidote. Unfortunately, though these combined influences of religion and melody were so well employed for the benefit of large numbers, there were still greater numbers untouched by any sort of remedy, whose wild paroxysms were constantly drawing new adherents into the ranks of the Dancers. Any attempt at forcible suppression only resulted in displays of increased violence. Practically the evil had grown in a few weeks to such a head that the authorities had to stand by in the hope that it would wear itself away. Already the police were vastly overweighted by the task of maintaining any semblance of public order. There were hosts of designing men and women who aided and abetted the grotesque excesses of the Dancers for no other purpose than to take advantage of opportunities for conduct violating every principle of public decorum.

Thus the fateful summer wore away. The railway termini presented conditions more chaotic than ever. All outgoing trains were densely packed by Londoners fleeing with their families from the multiplying terrors of the capital. But though scores of thousands escaped, millions necessarily remained--the helpless puppets of time and circumstance.

When at length the August Bank holiday came round, the disorganised condition of the railway service led to the abandonment of any adequate provision for the usual excursion traffic; as a consequence, vast crowds, that in the ordinary course would have got away from London, were practically kept prisoners within its bounds. The reek of the wood and asphalt of the streets, the glare of the pavements, and the pitiless rays of the relentless sun, drove them in herds into the public parks. There, under the parched foliage of the trees, some measure of shelter could be had, and on the brown and dusty grass holiday keepers--Heaven save the mark!--threw themselves down in weariness and sullen discontent, while hosts of women and children, indifferent to the feeble remonstrances of the frightened park-keepers, paddled in the dwindling waters of the Serpentine, the Round Pond, and the ornamental lakes. As the long and joyless day drew to its close, news came to Scotland Yard that mobs had forced their way into the private gardens of the large squares. It proved to be true as regards Berkeley Square, Grosvenor Square, Belgrave Square, Tavistock Square, and many others. Temple Gardens and Gray’s Inn Gardens also had been invaded, but urgent messages for police protection were only met with the answer that it was impossible to spare the number of men required for such a purpose. In Grosvenor Square, indeed, a body of police did manage to clear the gardens of a gang of turbulent intruders, after a violent resistance. To repeat the expulsion in a score of other squares was quite impracticable. It was an hour of alarm that brought home to peaceable citizens the conviction, long dawning, that a combined force of Metropolitan and City police, which did not exceed 17,000 men--and could provide only about 5000 for duty every eight hours--was absolutely inadequate to safeguard London day and night in times of exceptional disorder.

The mob in various quarters had scored a triumph. By the simple expedient of forcing a lock or clambering over some low railings it had gained possession of many acres of fresh country. Well-mown grass and carefully cultivated flower-beds were at their service. Noisy revellers shouted indecencies in the growing shades of evening. Unwashen and verminous creatures in rags and tatters sprawled on the garden seats and prowled amongst the shrubs.

In the parks fresh contingents arrived, and jeered at the orders to clear out at closing time. Under the trees they drank and shouted in the gathering darkness. Here and there bits of candles and matches were lighted, and ribald laughter and drunken yells burst forth at the sights the flickering flames revealed.

Rumour of what was going on brought many persons to the Park, and among them Herrick. Quite suddenly he ran up against Henshaw the detective.

“Nice game, isn’t it?” said the latter. “This sort of thing’s going on all over the place. I’ve just come down from Kensington Gardens, and, if anything, it’s worse there than it is here.”

“Well, here comes a breath of air,” sighed Herrick, baring his head to the faint puff that rustled the leaves.

“Yes, and from the south-west, too. It’ll do us good if it brings the rain at last.”

They sauntered on--they were on the south side of the Serpentine--listening and looking. Presently they reached a widened space.

“Hullo! do you see that?” exclaimed the detective, halting.

“See it? Yes! What does it mean?”

“Fire!”

“A house?”

“No, a tree. It must be in Kensington Gardens. That’s what comes of this match and candle business. If I’d had my way the troops should have hunted the whole pack of them out of this an hour ago.”

“Look! look!” cried Herrick excitedly. Westward a tongue of flame had shot into the air, and then another, and another.

“My God!” said Herrick, horrified. Then he set off at a run, the other keeping at his heels. On every side recumbent forms were scrambling to their feet. Oaths, obscene jests and blasphemous shouts broke upon their ears, and far and near sounded the shrill persistent whistles of the constables. A lurid light now illumined the western sky, and here and there ahead of them great cones of flame shot up, while huge columns of smoke bent and spread before the rising gusts of wind.

The two men paused, exhausted for the moment, letting the rush of dim and stumbling figures eddy round them.

“Kensington Palace must be on fire,” panted Herrick.

“If so the League’s at the bottom of this business,” said the detective. “Hullo! you there----”

Away to the left in a bed of flowering shrubs his quick eye had caught a stealthy movement. Almost as the words escaped him there was a little flame low down near the ground. It revealed a glimpse of a white, hot face, glistening with perspiration. The cheeks were inflated, the mouth was blowing at a little heap of straw, dried chips, and leaves.

“You devil!” shouted Henshaw; “that’s your game?” He dashed into the bushes, but the incendiary was too quick for him. He wriggled clear on the other side and was lost to view in the wild on-rushing crowd.

When they reached the road dividing the Park from Kensington Gardens, it was seen that the refreshment châlet just within the rails of the gardens was burning fiercely. In the midst of the crackling of the furnace could be heard crash after crash of crockery, as the piled cups and saucers, plates and jugs, came tumbling from their charred and splintering shelves.

In the glare that lit up the broad roadway, a maddened, half-intoxicated mob of Dancers, breaking out into screams and maniacal laughter, circled in full view of the burning châlet, until the galloping horses of the fire engines, approaching from the north, drove them, still leaping and gyrating, southward towards Kensington. Fire engines now approached from every quarter, but it was obvious that little could be done to save the trees. Every thirsty bush served as a conductor for the greedy element. The furnace spread from bough to bough; below, the fire fastened on fragments and twigs lying on the parched surface of the grass, curling its way snake-like to the nearest trunk; then, with a sharp hiss, climbed to the lower branches, licking them eagerly until, with one united and terrific hiss, the brown and shrivelled foliage combined to make a pyramid of fire. Tree after tree became thus outlined in a mighty burst of flame, then lapsed into smoke and blackness, still revealed here and there with glowing branches. Sometimes the fire commenced its work high in the loftier foliage; for now the upper air was filled with charred and glowing embers borne north and eastward by the rising wind. In the rush of sparks and smoke above the swaying tree-tops, it seemed as if the weird Valkyrie sisters rode triumphant. Bushes and branches were hastily torn down where possible, and bands of people made frantic efforts to beat out the fire ere it obtained an unconquerable hold.

But deviltry was loose that night, and, however the first fire may have been occasioned, the distances at which new outbreaks were discovered pointed conclusively to deliberate acts. In all, seven men were seized--taken red-handed in the act of causing separate fires. Four of the prisoners wore the symbol of the League.

Towards morning, a heavy downpour of rain extinguished the last sparks of the conflagration. It had come too late to save the trees, and all that the fire brigade had been able to achieve was the preservation of Kensington Palace from more than partial destruction.

Dawn crept, frowning, over the dreary scene, the black ghost of its former beauty--a wilderness of ashes; above which the charred branches of denuded trees waved mournful arms to greet the mournful day.