A Regimental Affair Read Online Free PDF Page A

turning.
    But Cashman called for the crowd to give him three cheers, making them both turn back once more. And then, in the language the sailor knew best, he called to the hangman to ‘let go the jib-boom’.
    Suddenly his words were choked off. His body swung crazily in mid-air. He struggled only briefly, but it silenced the crowd. When his writhing was no more, several of the onlookers muttered, ‘God rest his soul.’ Some made the sign of the cross. For a while, as the sheriffs’ men took down the body, there was scarcely a word, but as quickly as the silence had come the clamour returned, and everywhere there were shouts of ‘Murder! Murder! Shame! Shame!’
    The constables looked about anxiously as Hervey and Howard took the opportunity to push their way to the end of the street. There was the sound of splintering timber and then a terrific roar as some of the rougher elements mounted the scaffold and pulled down the gibbet. The pavement boards outside Beckwith’s shop gave way and the crowd surged into the middle of the street, the constables quickly abandoning their attempts to hold them back and running to the west end where one of the City magistrates stood with an armed guard.
    ‘We’d better leave them to it. This is no place for either of us,’ said Hervey, having to fend off one of the ladies of the district (business always increased after a public execution).
    The magistrate looked nervous too. More people – and a sight less respectable-looking than before – were coming from the rookeries. The crowd in Skinner Street was now in a distinct tumult. He clearly feared for property and life. Hervey saw him signal to one of his deputies at the end of the street, and then take out his pocketbook.
    ‘Our Sovereign Lord the King,’ he began, though the tumult was so great that none beyond a dozen yards could have heard him; ‘chargeth and commandeth all persons being assembled, immediately to disperse themselves and peaceably to depart—’ A piece of rotten fruit struck the magistrate square in the face, but he faltered only for a second before continuing. ‘. . . Peaceably to depart to their habitations or to their lawful business, upon the pains contained in the Act made in the first year of King George for preventing tumultuous and riotous assemblies. God save the King!’
    But this magistrate was not going to wait a full hour for the crowd to disperse, as the Riot Act required. In less than a minute there was a sudden roar and then the clatter of hooves above it, as the City officials’ force of last resort appeared from around the corner.
    ‘Great gods!’ exclaimed Hervey. The facings were unmistakable. ‘It is the Sixth! And I recognize some of those dragoons!’ What a place to see them, jeered by their own countrymen when only a year ago they had been cheered to the eaves. He balked at the prospect of what they had to do, but he wanted to be with them nevertheless. ‘Go to it, the Sixth!’ he called, before he could think better of it.
    Howard had turned the colour of the Sixth’s facings. His eyes were empty.
    ‘My dear fellow,’ said Hervey, grasping his arm, ‘I think we’d better get you some brandy.’
    ‘No, no; it is all right. I want just to walk, that is all,’ he replied, shaking his head.
    Hervey glanced back over his shoulder at the dragoons.
    ‘Why don’t you stay?’ said Howard. ‘I’ll make my way back to Whitehall: there’s no chance of getting to the Saracen’s Head by the looks of things.’
    Hervey was not of a mind to leave him, but Howard protested he was perfectly well enough to find a chaise.
    ‘Very well, then,’ Hervey conceded. ‘But let’s dine as we said. A little later, though – say, eight? At the United Services,’ and he reached for his hunter to see how long he had. It was gone – twisted from the chain, for it had no safety swivel. ‘Oh, in heaven’s name!’ he groaned.
    Lord John Howard raised his eyebrows as if to apologize for