A Place Called Freedom - Ken Follett [93]
The scene had all the makings of a riot.
Mack cursed, it was the last thing he wanted.
He turned from the window and rushed down the stairs. If he could talk to the men with the carts and persuade them not to unload, he might avert violence.
When he reached the street the first cart was turning into the coal yard. As he ran forward the men jumped off the carts and, without warning, began to throw lumps of coal at the crowd. Some of the heavers were hit; others picked up the lumps of coal and threw them back. Mack heard a woman scream and saw children being herded indoors.
“Stop!” he yelled. He ran between the coal heavers and the carts with his hands held up. “Stop!” The men recognized him and for a moment there was quiet. He was grateful to see Charlie Smith’s face in the crowd. “Try to keep order here, Charlie, for God’s sake,” he said. “I’ll talk to these people.”
“Everybody stay calm,” Charlie called out. “Leave it to Mack.”
Mack turned his back on the heavers. On either side of the narrow street, people were standing on house doorsteps, curious to see what was happening but ready to duck quickly inside. There were at least five men on each coal cart. In the unnatural silence Mack approached the lead cart. “Who’s in charge here?” he said.
A figure stepped forward in the moonlight. “I am.”
Mack recognized Sidney Lennox.
He was shocked and puzzled. What was going on here? Why was Lennox trying to deliver coal to a yard? He had a cold premonition of disaster.
He spotted the owner of the yard, Jack Cooper, known as Black Jack because he was always covered in black dust like a miner. “Jack, close up the gates of your yard, for God’s sake,” he pleaded. “There’ll be murder done if you let this go on.”
Cooper looked sulky. “I’ve got to make a living.”
“You will, as soon as the strike is over. You don’t want to see bloodshed on Wapping High Street, do you?”
“I’ve set my hand to the plow and I’ll not look back now.”
Mack gave him a hard look. “Who asked you to do this, Jack? Is there someone else involved?”
“I’m my own man—no one tells me what to do.”
Mack began to see what was happening, and it made him angry. He turned to Lennox. “You’ve paid him off. But why?”
They were interrupted by the sound of a handbell being rung loudly. Mack turned to see three people standing at the upstairs window of the Frying Pan tavern. One was ringing the bell, another holding a lantern. The third man, in the middle, wore the wig and sword that marked him as someone of importance.
When the bell stopped ringing, the third man announced himself. “I am Roland MacPherson, a justice of the peace in Wapping, and I hereby declare a riot.” He went on to read the key section of the Riot Act.
Once a riot had been declared, everyone had to disperse within an hour. Defiance was punishable by death.
The magistrate had got there quickly, Mack thought. Clearly he had been expecting this and waiting in the tavern for his cue. This whole episode had been carefully planned.
But to what end? It seemed to him they wanted to provoke a riot that would discredit the coal heavers and give them a pretext to hang the ringleaders. And that meant him.
His first reaction was aggressive. He wanted to yell, “If they’re asking for a riot, by God we’ll give them one they’ll never forget—we’ll burn London before we’re done!” He wanted to get his hands around Lennox’s throat. But he forced himself to be calm and think clearly. How could he frustrate Lennox’s plan?
His only hope was to give in and let the coal be delivered.
He turned to the coal heavers, gathered in an angry crowd around the open gates of the yard. “Listen to me,” he began. “This is a plot to provoke us into a riot. If we all go home peacefully we will outwit our enemies. If we stay and fight, we’re lost.”
There was a rumble of discontent.
Dear God, Mack thought, these men are stupid. “Don’t you understand?” he said. “They want an excuse to hang some of us. Why give them what they