CHAPTER XVI

CO-OPERATIVE POLICE AND THE SUPPRESSION OF RIOTS

When the new police was first introduced, the promoters of the scheme did not look beyond the creation of a local force, sufficient to protect life and property in the metropolis and its immediate neighbourhood. No doubt Peel intended that his police should serve as a model to other forces which he hoped to see established throughout the kingdom; but it was no part of his plan that the Metropolitan Police should be extended until the whole of England was policed by a homogeneous organization administered from a central bureau in London. Such a result, however, was at one time imminent, and would have become inevitable if the process had not been arrested by the timely reforms in County and Borough, described in the last chapter; reforms which, besides helping towards the general reduction of crime, prevented also the threatened centralization, by securing to provincial districts the control of their own police.

As the Metropolitan Police increased in numbers and efficiency, it began to lose its strictly local character, and to become a national police. Up to a certain point this was to the public advantage, but it would have been calamitous if the tendency had been allowed to continue beyond that point. It is obvious, however, that after the failure of the Permissive Act in 1839, the retention of local control, so desirable on many grounds, was only rendered possible by making the abolition of the parochial system universally compulsory.

As a matter of fact, the powers of making additions to the Metropolitan District, acquired in 1839,[216] were only taken advantage of to a very small extent, and the growth of the Metropolitan Police was almost entirely confined within the limits originally assigned to it. In 1840 the Houses of Parliament and the London Docks were taken over; next came the Woolwich and Deptford Yards; Woolwich Arsenal, and Greenwich were incorporated in 1843; then the Tower of London, and finally the Royal Dockyards (Portsmouth, Devonport, Chatham, and Pembroke Dock) were policed by the Metropolitan force in 1860. The entire establishment, which in June 1830 was 3314 of all ranks, had risen to 5625 in 1852, and ten years afterwards a new division (X) was created to deal with the crowds which were expected to visit the second International Exhibition. In 1864 the total strength was 7113. Colonel Rowan resigned in 1850, and in 1856 the two Commissioners were replaced by one Commissioner (Sir R. Mayne) and two Assistant Commissioners.

At first no steps were taken to fill the gap caused by the disappearance of the Bow Street Runner, and the Popay incident discouraged the Commissioners from venturing on what was felt to be dangerous ground. The lack of a detective service was a great source of weakness, and so in 1842 a new department, especially devoted to this very necessary branch of police work, was instituted by Sir James Graham, and attached to Scotland Yard.

A small staff was selected out of the uniform branch to form a nucleus. At first the department only consisted of three inspectors and nine sergeants; soon afterwards six constables were added, and gradually the numbers were increased until in 1878 the whole detective service was reorganized, and the Criminal Investigation Department created.

At the time when the Metropolitan force was the only efficient police in the kingdom, individual officers, it may be remembered, were often sent to the provinces, on loan or permanently, to assist in the formation of similar organizations in other parts of England; this of course was right and proper, and was attended by the best results. Subsequently, the practice arose of temporarily drafting large bodies of London policemen to keep the peace in distant districts wherever disturbances were feared, a course of action sound enough in theory perhaps, but seldom found effectual when put to the test of experience. An English mob quickly resents high-handed interference, and will not tolerate at the hands of strangers the same degree of repression it would quietly submit to from local peace officers.

Several examples might be given of the ill-success which has almost invariably attended the employment of London police in the provinces; but the following is selected as a particularly well-defined instance. In the summer of 1839 a force of Metropolitan policemen, about ninety strong, were dispatched to Birmingham, to over-awe the turbulent crowds which, it was feared, might proceed to extremities if their demands were not complied with. When the police arrived in the town, a noisy public meeting was in progress at the Bull Ring, but no overt act of violence had as yet been committed. The Superintendent in charge of the constables peremptorily ordered the crowd to disperse; his summons was as positively disregarded, and within five minutes blows were exchanged. In the melée which followed, the police were worsted, and the situation was barely saved by the opportune appearance of the military. On the ensuing Monday evening, a second conflict took place, in which the policemen were victorious, though at the expense of an increase of bitterness on both sides. A spurious semblance of peace having thus been restored, fifty constables returned to London, and only forty were left to deal with any recrudescence of disorder; for this they had not long to wait, as an attempt to break up a public meeting, a few days later, was followed by the most serious consequences. After destroying some iron palisading which surrounded the Nelson Monument, the crowd, now animated by a worse temper than before, made weapons of part of the débris, and drove the small force of constables to take refuge in the police-yard. For the next hour and a half the town was at the mercy of the rioters, who, having begun by smashing lamps and windows, ended by pillaging shops and warehouses.[217] Eventually the police charged the mob with drawn cutlasses, and, assisted by dragoons, got the upper hand; shortly afterwards the police were withdrawn, and the task of keeping order was entrusted to a strong levy of special constables locally enrolled, who succeeded in maintaining the peace where their more professional _confrères_ had failed. There is little doubt but that these riots might have been avoided, or at least mitigated, had no strangers been introduced to quell them.[218]

An isolated fact seldom proves anything; but it will be allowed, without the production of additional evidence, that the Birmingham fiasco affords sufficient proof that the Metropolitan Police had not yet learnt the art of managing an angry crowd. There are, no doubt, many occasions on which it is desirable to transfer bodies of police from one place to another in order to concentrate the forces of law and order at some threatened or strategic point, but in so doing the danger to be apprehended from the resulting increase of local animus, ought to be taken into account, and adequately provided for.

The valuable, if not indispensable, nature of the services which may be rendered by Special Constables when directed towards the suppression of riots, already indicated at Birmingham in 1839, was more fully exemplified in 1848, when the Chartists assembled at Kennington Common, threatened to descend upon London. The fear that the Metropolis might be subjected to an access of anarchy similar to that which bestowed an evil notoriety on the Gordon Riots, gave rise to preparations for defence on an unprecedented scale. At this crisis not less than two hundred thousand citizens enrolled themselves as Special Constables; the Metropolitan Police were told off to guard the bridges; and all available troops were held in reserve, mostly in houses on the Middlesex side of the river. The Duke of Wellington took command of this huge police army, and so perfect were his arrangements that, without the display of a single redcoat, the rioters outside dared not advance to the attack, and their sympathisers within dared not make any diversion in their favour.

The whole subject of the policing of riotous and riotously disposed crowds is of the highest importance; but being a science in itself, its many aspects cannot be discussed in a book which only professes to tell briefly the story of police development in this country. At the same time, if we are to appreciate correctly the bearing of one fact upon another, if we hope to draw intelligent conclusions, it is impossible to avoid altogether what may be called the semi-scientific side of the question. In order to estimate the efficiency of any police force, to decide, for example, whether its failures are due to faulty organization or to bad generalship,--it is not sufficient to have an acquaintance with a mass of facts, dates and figures, but a key is required to read the cipher, some guide is necessary to assist in arranging the known factors in the order of their relative importance.

An indifferently directed force may be capable of dealing in detail with isolated offenders; but the problem of pacifying a combination of peace breakers may induce a strain which will find out the faulty link in all but the most highly tempered organizations. Just as a concerted breach of the peace by a number of persons is disproportionately more serious than an independent breach by any individual, so also do police duties take a higher range as soon as it becomes necessary to concentrate the energies of a number of constables for the attainment of a common object. If he is to employ his constables to the best advantage, a superior officer of police must have some knowledge of the general laws that sway men when they are assembled together in great numbers, those "volcanic forces" which, in the words of an American writer, "lie smouldering in all ignorant masses."

Men have a gregarious instinct which, under the influence of excitement, induces them to herd together without any definite object and often at great inconvenience to themselves; the progress of the resulting congestion is normal until a certain point is reached, the point at which entirely new forces begin to act. When this moment arrives, all self-control is repudiated, decent and orderly men become desperadoes, cowards are inspired by a senseless bravado, the calm reason of common-sense gives place to the insanity of licence, and unless the demoralising tendency is checked, a crowd rapidly reaches the level of its most degraded constituent. The explanation of these phenomena is probably to be found in an excessive spirit of emulation aroused under conditions of excitement, which makes a man feel that the responsibility for his actions is no longer to be borne by himself, but will be shared by the multitude in which he has merged his identity. It is the business of the police to exhaust every art in a sustained effort to prevent the ferment from reaching the critical stage, and to watch the crowd so narrowly that the first symptom of violence may instantly be suppressed. This can best be accomplished by local constables who are acquainted with the persons and names of individual members of the crowd, while it is of even greater moment that the constabulary should not be the first to give offence, or contribute to a breach of the peace by the use of exasperating language or aggressive action.

The problem before the policeman operating against a riotously disposed crowd is somewhat similar to that which confronts the soldier in the face of the enemy, and it was on this account that the Metropolitan force was given a semi-military organization. In some respects, however, the policeman's task is the more difficult of the two, chiefly because he has to strive for peace whilst actually engaged in conflict; the soldier at least enjoys the advantage of knowing his own comrades, whereas the constable is often unable to distinguish friends from foes, and continually runs the risk of converting the former into the latter. Whilst the greatest possible latitude must be allowed to individual constables, the secret of success lies in mutual, not in independent action, and for mutual action to exist, there must be discipline and intelligent direction. When the use of force can no longer be delayed, the plan adopted by the officer in command should be easy of accomplishment, simple of comprehension, and its success should leave the law-breakers at a strategical disadvantage sufficiently obvious to convince them of the futility of further resistance. Nothing is so fatal as vacillation: partial success leads on a mob to the commission of fresh excesses, partial repression only aggravates it. It is far better to leave a crowd altogether alone, than to sustain even an apparent defeat. Force is no remedy unless it is unswervingly and unhesitatingly applied; and as it is comparatively immaterial in what direction repression is exercised so long as it is consistent and irresistible, it is usually good policy to divert the energies of the mob towards the line of least resistance. It is more efficacious, for example, to keep a crowd moving in some definite direction, than to dissipate the strength of the police in attempts to arrest ring-leaders, to seize banners or the like, which may degenerate into a series of disconnected single combats not uniformly favourable to authority. Any apparently uncalled-for attack may convey the impression of wanton outrage, and so tend to defeat the object in view, by increasing that state of irritation and excitement which it is the principal duty of the police to allay. Many branches of police science which to-day are in the common knowledge were unheard of and unsuspected during the first half of the nineteenth century. This is particularly the case with regard to that part of the constable's duty which has to do with the management of crowds: before 1830 there were only two methods of dealing with a riotous mob, the first was to leave it severely alone, and the second was to allow a regiment of cavalry to trample it into submission. No government worthy of the name is justified in adopting a policy of non-interference at a time when the lives and property of law-abiding citizens are in preventible jeopardy, and the disastrous consequences that may follow upon the employment of the second method were sufficiently advertised (to cite two instances only) by the Bristol Riots and the so-called Peterloo Massacre.

London police and London crowds are now renowned all over the world, the former for the general excellence of their arrangements, and the latter for their almost invariable good humour. Perhaps the credit is not always fairly apportioned, for it is not too much to say that the good humour of the crowd is more often due to the admirable tact of the police than to any inherent virtue that exclusively resides in Londoners. At first the police were hardly more successful in suppressing riots than the soldiers had been: in Birmingham as at Coldbath Fields, events shewed that the unpopularity of the new constabulary went far to neutralize the undoubted superiority naturally possessed by a civil, over a military, force for the purposes of peace maintenance. As time went on, and as police and public came to understand each other, riots became less frequent, and conflicts less bitter, until the harmony which now so happily exists was arrived at. If it is allowable to talk of a turning-point in a process which is gradual, this point was reached soon after the disturbances which commonly go by the name of the Sunday-Trading-Bill Riots. Though not accompanied by any loss of life, nor followed by those unsparing attacks on the conduct of the police that had embittered the Coldbath Fields controversy, the collision which took place in July 1855, between the Metropolitan Police and a mixed London crowd, were serious enough to stir up much of the old animosity, and to prove that, if the policeman was no longer an object of active dislike to his fellow-citizens, neither could he as yet lay claim to any great measure of popularity.

The disturbances in question arose out of the following circumstances. Lord Robert Grosvenor had introduced a bill, the object of which was to prevent all buying and selling within the City of London and metropolitan police district on Sundays. Popular feeling, which ran high against the measure, found expression in a variety of ways, some serious and some serio-comic. The point of view of the masses was not badly summed up in these lines:

"Sublime decree, by which our souls to save No Sunday tankards foam, no barbers shave, And chins unmown, and throats unslaked display, His Lordship's reverence for the Sabbath day."

Unfortunately the opponents of the obnoxious bill did not confine themselves to versification, but caused handbills to be circulated, announcing that on the 24th of June, an open-air meeting would be held in Hyde Park "to see how religiously the aristocracy observe the Sabbath, and how careful they are not to work their servants or their cattle on that day." The result of this manifesto was that, at the time mentioned, a mob assembled near the Serpentine, but the demonstration did not assume serious proportions, the crowd contenting themselves with hooting and jeering at those who were taking their afternoon ride or drive in the Park.

Throughout the following week, certain persons continued the agitation, and, by means of placards, summoned their sympathisers to meet them on the next Sunday in Hyde Park, where it was announced that "the open air concert and monster fête, under the patronage of the Leave-us-alone Club will be repeated." Another appeal was of a more personal nature and ran as follows, "Let us go to Church with Lord Robert Grosvenor next Sunday morning. We can attend his lordship in Park Lane at half past ten, go to Church with him, then go home to dinner, and be back in time to see our friends in Hyde Park. Come in your best clothes, as his lordship is very particular."

These handbills and placards having been brought to his notice, Sir Richard Mayne replied by publishing a proclamation requesting well-disposed persons not to attend the proposed meeting, at the same time warning all concerned that steps would be taken by the police to prevent the meeting being held, and that, if necessary, force would be employed to maintain the peace.

Undeterred by this notice, thousands of people entered the Park on the afternoon of Sunday the 1st of July, drawn thither, some by curiosity, some for purposes of recreation, some with the fixed determination of resisting the police. Certain precautionary arrangements were made by the Chief Commissioner, and orders were issued to the effect that any persons shouting or frightening horses, or attempting to address the crowd, were to be cautioned as to the consequences of their action and required to desist, the police being instructed to remove, and if necessary take into custody, any who persistently refused to obey their orders.

As on the previous Sunday, the disturbances commenced with hooting and shouting, but the police who, in obedience to orders, were lying down on the grass, did not interfere; at about half past three, the crowd began to assume a more threatening attitude, and things began to look serious. A dense mob was gathered along the railings and across the carriage way, stones were thrown at carriages, some wooden hurdles were broken up, and the fragments used as missiles, whilst the crowd continued to hoot, whistle and make discordant noises, with the object of frightening the horses.

The Superintendent in charge, thinking that the time for vigorous action had arrived, ordered the police to draw their truncheons and clear the roadway. Whilst this order was being carried out, a considerable number of people who did not give way with sufficient promptitude were struck and some knocked down. The mob now turned upon the police, making insulting remarks, throwing stones, and repeatedly attempting to break the line of constables, who retaliated by making short rushes and taking into custody all who offered resistance. Victory eventually rested with the police, but desultory fighting continued throughout the afternoon, and it was not until six o'clock in the evening that the commotion in the neighbourhood of the Drive subsided.

Whilst the main crowd was being dispersed, a mob some 400 strong, with cries of "Now to Lord Robert Grosvenor's," left the park, and proceeded to Park Street, and at the same moment another body made their way to the Magazine Barracks, where they amused themselves by throwing stones at a small party of Grenadiers stationed there. The sergeant in command sent to the police for assistance which was promptly rendered, and quiet was soon restored.

Meanwhile the constables in Park Street were endeavouring to persuade the crowd, who had gathered in force in front of Lord Robert's house, to disperse quietly, but when their efforts proved of no avail, and when cries of "Chuck him out" and threats of violence were raised, the reserves previously stationed at Stanhope Gate were moved up, and the street cleared by force. In this encounter truncheons were again used, and numerous minor injuries inflicted, but only one arrest was made.

By nine o'clock the police were withdrawn, all disturbance being at an end. In the course of the day forty-nine policemen were reported hurt, and on the other side seventy-two persons were taken into custody and removed to Vine Street Police Station, ten of them being charged with felony, and the remaining sixty-two with riotous conduct or with assaults on the police. Unfortunately the accommodation at Vine Street was altogether insufficient for such a large number of prisoners, the cells ordinarily in use were soon filled, and then recourse was had to an underground room, formerly the place of confinement attached to the old parish watch-house. Into this prison, which was dark and badly ventilated, were crowded forty-three persons, ten of whom were subsequently removed, but the remaining thirty-three had to spend the night (which happened to be unusually sultry), standing up, or lying on the damp floor as best they could. Many of the prisoners were respectable people, unused to dirt and discomfort, and their sufferings must have been considerable.

The Inspector in charge of the Vine Street Station, somewhat tardily communicating with Sir Richard Mayne, informed him of the overcrowded state of the cells, with the result that thirty-one prisoners out of the original seventy-two were removed to neighbouring stations by order of the Chief Commissioner. In the course of the next two days, all the accused were brought before the magistrates, when twenty-nine, or nearly half the number, were discharged, the remainder being fined or sentenced to short terms of imprisonment.

The conduct of the police in Hyde Park, and the treatment of the prisoners at Vine Street, having given rise to serious allegations and to much adverse comment in the public press, the Government decided to hold an inquiry into the matter. Three Commissioners were appointed, and given full powers to investigate and report upon the occurrences of the 1st of July and the following days. In the course of the inquiry, several attempts were made to discredit Sir Richard Mayne; some accused him of slackness for not personally directing the police in the park, whilst others held that he was over-officious in not leaving the crowd alone altogether. The responsibility for the overcrowding at Vine Street was laid to his charge, and it was suggested that he failed in his duty, in that he did not go to the police station, and, by virtue of the powers vested in him as a Justice of the Peace, admit to bail those prisoners who were not charged with felony, and who might be able to find sufficient guarantee for their future appearance.

Of these charges, which were made by people who seemed to think that any stone was good enough to throw at the chief officer of police, the two first, when taken together, were mutually destructive, besides being silly when considered separately; whilst the suggestion that Sir Richard Mayne ought to have admitted certain of the accused to bail, was not to the point, because it had been clearly laid down by Statute when the office was first created, that any exercise of the powers of a Justice by the Chief Commissioner of Police was to be strictly confined to his duties connected with the preservation of the peace.

The net result of the labours of Her Majesty's Commissioners was to establish, beyond a doubt, that certain constables had been guilty of unnecessary violence; that the Superintendent in charge, losing his head, or his temper, or both, had authorized stronger measures than the circumstances of the case warranted; and that blame attached to the authorities at Vine Street for the mismanagement which caused the detention of a far larger number of prisoners than there was accommodation for at that station. On the other hand, it was proved that the large majority of the police had acted with moderation and good temper throughout a long and trying day in spite of the continued attempts of the crowd to harass and annoy them; and that the measures adopted for the preservation of the peace had on the whole been successful, in so far that a mob many thousands strong, bent on mischief, had been effectually controlled and prevented from doing any material damage worth mentioning.

From the evidence as a whole, it is clear that the accusing witnesses (and they were very numerous,), must have been guilty of much exaggeration when describing the violence with which they said the police had acted; since in a conflict lasting several hours, in which it was alleged the constabulary used their truncheons unmercifully, sparing neither age nor sex, no life was lost, no limb was broken, nor was any permanent injury inflicted. On the other hand, many witnesses voluntarily came forward to testify to the good behaviour of the police, not only on this particular occasion, but generally in all their dealings with the public.

The promptitude with which the inquiry was granted, and the thorough and impartial manner in which it was carried out, was attended by the happiest results, and did much to foster friendly relations in the future between police and public; the latter were reassured that Government would not tolerate, much less countenance, any excesses committed by the police, upon whom again it was impressed that even a disorderly mob must be treated with a certain amount of consideration, and that high-handed interference would lead to the punishment of the offending constables.

A minor improvement which originated from this inquiry may, in passing, be noticed. Hitherto a constable's number had been surrounded by a scroll of embroidery that made it difficult to decipher except at very close quarters, so that identification was often rendered impossible: to rectify this, the plain metal figures now worn by constables on collar and helmet were introduced.

The Sunday-Trading Bill riots were quite unimportant as riots, and yet their influence upon the future of the police was very great, because the inquiry which followed illuminated a question that had been obscured by ignorance and prejudice, causing misconceptions to be removed on both sides, and a better understanding and mutual appreciation to be substituted, with the result that the metropolitan force soon began to be popular in quarters where it had previously been hated. The best proof of its efficiency, so far as the management of crowds is concerned, may be found in the fact that, during the first forty years of its existence, the peace was so well maintained, that the damage done to property by rioters was quite insignificant, and this without the intervention of the military; whilst in witness of the moderation of the methods employed by the police in the attainment of this result, it need only be stated, that in every conflict which occurred during the same period, the personal injuries sustained by the aggressors were invariably less severe than those suffered by the constables, though the latter were all men of exceptionally fine physique, and were armed with truncheons. In the course of the Reform riot which took place in Hyde Park in the year 1868, two hundred and sixty-five policemen were wounded out of a total of 1613 actually on duty, "and one Superintendent, two Inspectors, nine sergeants, and thirty-three constables were so severely injured as to be rendered unfit for duty, many for life," yet "the police behaved with the most admirable moderation and not a single case of unnecessary violence was proved against them."[219]

There is a saying that the strength of the Man in Blue lies in the fact that he has the Man in Red behind him. This of course is superficially true, in so far that in the event of a riot or other disturbance, with which the local police is for any reason unable to cope, a sufficient number of troops will be called out to assist the civil arm. But the saying is not true if any suggestion of an offensive alliance between constabulary and soldiery is intended; nor is it true if it is meant to give the impression that there is a potentiality of physical force behind the policeman, which, under any circumstances whatever, could be exerted to coerce the nation at large.

The members of the English police are public servants in the fullest sense of the term; not servants of any individual, of any particular class or sect, but servants of the whole community--excepting only that part of it which in setting the law at defiance, has thereby become a public enemy. The strength of the Man in Blue, properly understood, lies in the fact that he has behind him the whole weight of public opinion; for he only wages war against the law-breaker, and in this contest can claim the goodwill of every loyal citizen. If a police constable is in need of assistance, he can call upon any bystander, and in the King's name demand his active co-operation; should the bystander refuse without being able to prove physical impossibility or lawful excuse, he can no longer be considered as a loyal citizen, but is guilty of an indictable offence and becomes liable to punishment.

The basis upon which our theory of police ultimately rests, is the assumption that every lawful act performed by a police officer in the execution of his duty, has the sanction and approval of the great majority of his fellow-citizens; and under our constitution it would be impossible for any constabulary force to continue in existence, if its actions persistently ran counter to the expressed wishes of the people.

The actual continuance of the English police is therefore dependent upon the consent of the people; but this mere acquiescence is not enough. If the police are to be efficient, they must earn for themselves the respect and sympathy of all classes, they must be popular. It is only on the rarest occasions that a policeman is actually the eye-witness of a crime, nor in the nature of things is he likely to be in the confidence of the criminal. As a rule he must rely on information, and generally speaking the public is the only source from which the necessary knowledge can be obtained. If the public are hostile, the one source of information is closed, and the police are rendered powerless. This difficulty has often been experienced in Ireland, where, on several occasions, it has proved a practical impossibility to discover the authors of agrarian crime, even when all the facts were well known to dozens of people, simply because the whole neighbourhood had entered into a conspiracy of silence. Such a manoeuvre instantly paralyzes the civil executive. In the olden days, when an offence had been committed and there was no culprit forthcoming, a fine was levied against the hundred or hundreds implicated, and justice was satisfied; in mediæval times, the "peine forte et dure" was employed to elicit information; but since the abolition of torture no effectual method has been invented by means of which an unwilling witness can be forced to tell what he knows; in Ireland, especially, the inducements held out by Government, to tempt a man to speak, are of little avail against the terrorism that the other side can invoke by the mere whisper of the word "informer."

But there are other reasons, besides this important question of obtaining information, why a measure of popularity is of such extreme value to every police force. There are a thousand ways in which the members of an unpopular service can be embarrassed and thwarted. No matter how capable and painstaking a man may be, he cannot do himself justice, nor can the best results attend his labours, if his every act is questioned, and if at every turn he has to surmount some obstacle set up to annoy and discourage him. The constabulary has been described as "The great army of order that is always in the field"; the protracted campaign in which this army is engaged is under all circumstances extremely arduous, but it becomes doubly so when its operations have to be conducted in an enemy's country.

We demand intelligence, good personal character and great physical strength from those to whom we entrust the duties of peace maintenance; and if we are to obtain men of the right stamp, men, that is, who possess these qualifications, it is essential that the police service should be held in popular esteem, and that the position of a constable should be sufficiently well thought of, and sought after, to create a keen competition for the vacancies as they occur. It would never do to have to beat up recruits for the constabulary forces, and to fall back on the expedients that the military authorities have to resort to to fill the ranks, nor to enlist immature lads in the hope that some day they will grow into well-developed men.

From every point of view, then, popularity is of the utmost value to the police; and yet, from the very nature of their duties it is extremely difficult for them to win it. A policeman who will lend himself to the screening of crime, or who is conveniently blind on occasions, may quickly become the object of a worthless and fleeting popularity; but it is not the friendship of the publican nor the applause of the rabble that is desirable; what is wanted is the respect and approval of all good citizens.

Year by year, in spite of occasional set-backs, the English police have risen in the estimation of their fellow-countrymen until they have won for themselves a position in the minds of the people which for respect and regard combined is without a parallel in Europe. "Weak in numbers as the force is," wrote Mr Munro, the late Commissioner of Police for the Metropolis, "it would be found in practice altogether inadequate were it not strengthened, to an extent unknown, I believe, elsewhere, by the relations that exist between the police and public, and by the thorough recognition on the part of the citizens at large of the police as their friends and protectors. The police touch all classes of the public at many points beyond the performance of their sterner duties as representatives of the law, and they touch them in a friendly way.... The police in short, are not the representatives of an arbitrary and despotic power, directed against the rights or obtrusively interfering with the pleasures of law-abiding citizens: they are simply a disciplined body of men, specially engaged in protecting 'masses' as well as 'classes,' from any infringement of their rights on the part of those who are not law-abiding."

The wisdom of fostering cordial relations between the people and the civil defenders of their lives and properties seems so obvious, that it is a source of wonder that so little attention has been given to the study of how best to promote this desirable _entente cordiale_. Before the new police was instituted constables were merely despised; after the re-organization was completed they were generally feared and often hated; the fact that they won their way to popularity is to be attributed almost entirely to their own merits. At the beginning of the century Colquhoun, who was a long way in advance of his contemporaries in his conceptions of what a police force should be, wrote: "Everything that can heighten in any degree the respectability of the office of constable, adds to the security of the State, and to the safety of the life and property of every individual," but at the time only a very few people heeded what he said; and parish authorities persisted in the idea that it did not matter who or what a constable was so long as he was cheap, whilst in more recent years, politicians of a certain stamp, who ought to be alive to the fatal consequences of their action, have not scrupled to try and stir up bad blood between the constabulary and the uneducated section of the public, whenever it has suited their purposes to do so, though happily without much success.

If the co-operation of which we have been speaking is to be complete, it should rest on a more substantial basis than goodwill: it is not sufficient that private citizens should be well-disposed towards their allies, it is necessary also that they should be acquainted with the conditions that govern the mutual relationship. The sphere of police utility is seriously limited by reason of the ignorance which commonly prevails, both as to the executive powers that private persons can assume as citizens, and with respect to the functions that officials may exercise by virtue of their office. In his "History of the Criminal Law," Sir James Stephen thus explains the position. "The police in their different grades are no doubt officers appointed by law for the purpose of arresting criminals, but they possess for this purpose no powers that are not also possessed by private persons.... A policeman has no other right as to asking questions or compelling the attendance of witnesses than a private person has; in a word, with a few exceptions, he may be described as a person paid to perform as a matter of duty acts, which if he so minded, he might have done voluntarily."[220] The law on the subject is further defined by another authority in these words. "If a constable be assaulted in the execution of his office, he need not go back to the wall, as private persons ought to do; and if, in the striving together, the constable kill the assailant, it is no felony; but if the constable be killed it shall be construed premeditated murder."[221] For all practical purposes, however, the only real difference that exists between the powers that are actively made use of by the police, and the latent powers that are vested in every British citizen, is this:--A police officer may arrest (without warrant) if he has a reasonable suspicion that a felony has taken place; a private person cannot arrest unless he has certain knowledge that a felony has actually been committed.

Within these limits, and according to our opportunities, the duty of each one of us is clear and inalienable, remaining the same to-day as it was in the time of Queen Elizabeth, when it was written "So that every English man is a sergeant to take the thiefe, and who sheweth negligence therein do not only incurre Evil opinion therefore, but hardly shall escape punishment."[222]