CHAPTER VII.

MODERN POLICE: LONDON.

The "New Police" introduced by Peel--The System supported by the Duke of Wellington--Opposition from the Vestries--Brief Account of the Metropolitan Police, its Uses and Services--The River Police--The City Police--Extra-police Services--The Provincial Police.

The necessity for a better police organisation in London much exercised the public mind during the early decades of the nineteenth century. At length, in 1830, Sir Robert Peel introduced a new scheme, the germ of the present admirable forces. In doing so he briefly recapitulated the shortcomings and defects of the system, or want of system, that then prevailed; he pointed out how many glaring evils had survived the repeated inquiries and consequent proposals for reform. Parliamentary Committees had reported year after year from 1770 to 1828, all of them unanimously of opinion that in the public interest, to combat the steady increase of crime a better method of prevention and protection was peremptorily demanded. Yet nothing had been done. The agitation had always subsided as soon as the immediate alarm was forgotten. So this opulent city, with its teeming population and abounding wealth, was still mainly dependent upon the parochial watch: the safe-keeping of both was entrusted to a handful of feeble old men, an obsolete body without system or authority. That crime had increased by "leaps and bounds" was shown by the figures. It was out of all proportion to the growth of the people. In 1828 as compared with 1821 there had been an increase of 41 per cent in committals, as against 15-1/2 per cent in population, and the ratio was one criminal to every 822 of the population. This was in London alone. In the provinces the increase was as 26 per cent of crime against 11-1/2 per cent of population.

Unquestionably the cause of all this was the inefficiency of the police. The necessary conditions, unity of action of the whole and direct responsibility of the parts, could never be assured under such arrangements. Each London parish worked independently, and while some made a fairly good fight, others by their apathy were subjected to continual depredation. The wealthy and populous district of Kensington, for instance, some fifteen square miles in extent, depended for its protection upon three constables and three headboroughs--none of the latter very remarkable for steadiness and sobriety. It was fairly urged that three drunken beadles could effect nothing against widespread burglary and thieving. In the parish of Tottenham, equally unprotected, there had been nineteen attempts at burglary in six weeks, and sixteen had been entirely successful. In Spitalfields, at a time not long antecedent to 1829, gangs of thieves stood at the street corners and openly rifled all who dared to pass them. In some parishes, suburban and of recent growth, there was no police whatever, no protection but the voluntary exertions of individuals and the "honesty of the thieves." Such were Fulham--with 15,000 inhabitants--Chiswick, Ealing, Acton, Edgware, Barnet, Putney, and Wandsworth. In Deptford, with 20,000, constantly reinforced by evil-doers driven out of Westminster through stricter supervision, there was no watch at all. Then the number of outrages perpetrated so increased that a subscription was raised to keep two watchmen, who were yet paid barely enough to support existence, much less ensure vigilance. Watchmen, indeed, were often chosen because they were on the parish rates. The pay of many of them was no more than twopence per hour.

The Duke of Wellington, who was the head of the Administration when Peel brought forward his measure in 1829, supported it to the full, and showed from his own experience how largely crime might be prevented by better police regulations. He mentioned the well-known horse-patrol,[13] which had done so much to clear the neighbourhood of London of highwaymen and footpads. His recollection reached back into the early years of the century, and he could speak from his own experience of a time when scarcely a carriage could pass without being robbed, when travellers had to do battle for their property with the robbers who attacked them. Yet all this had been stopped summarily by the mounted patrols which guarded all the approaches to London, and highway robbery had ceased to exist. The same good results might be expected from the general introduction of a better preventive system.

It is a curious fact that the Duke incurred much odium by the establishment of this new police, which came into force about the time that the struggle for Parliamentary reform had for the moment eclipsed his popularity. The scheme of an improved police was denounced as a determination to enslave, an insidious attempt to dragoon and tyrannise over the people. Police spies armed with extraordinary authority were to harass and dog the steps of peaceable citizens, to enter their houses, making domiciliary visitations, exercising the right of search on any small pretence or trumped-up story. There were idiots who actually accused the Duke of a dark design to seize supreme power and usurp the throne; it was with this base desire that he had raised this new "standing army" of drilled and uniformed policemen, under Government, and independent of local ratepayers' control. The appointment of a military officer, Colonel Rowan, of the Irish Constabulary, betrayed the intention of creating a "veritable gendarmerie." The popular aversion to the whole scheme, fanned into flame by these silly protests, burst out in abusive epithets applied to the new tyrants. Such names as "raw lobsters" from their blue coats, "bobbies" from Sir Robert Peel, and "peelers" with the same derivation, "crushers" from their heavy-footed interference with the liberty of the subject, "coppers" because they "copped" or captured his Majesty's lieges, survive to show how they were regarded in those days.

Yet the admirable regulations framed by Sir Richard Mayne, who was soon associated with Colonel Rowan, did much to reassure the public. They first enunciated the judicious principle that has ever governed police action in this country: the principle that prevention of crime was the first object of the constable, not the punishment of offenders after the fact. The protection of person and property and the maintenance of peace and good order were the great aims of a police force. A firm but pleasant and conciliatory demeanour was earnestly enjoined upon all officers, and this has been in truth, with but few exceptions, the watchword of the police from first to last. "Perfect command of temper," as laid down by Sir Richard Mayne, was an indispensable qualification; the police officer should "never suffer himself to be moved in the slightest degree by language or threats." He is to do his duty in a "quiet and determined manner," counting on the support of bystanders if he requires it, but being careful always to take no serious step without sufficient force at his back. He was entrusted with certain powers, though not of the arbitrary character alleged: he was entitled to arrest persons charged with or suspected of offences: he might enter a house in pursuit of an offender, to interfere in an affray, to search for stolen goods.

They went their way quietly and efficiently, these new policemen, and, in spite of a few mistakes from over-zeal, soon conquered public esteem. The opposition died hard; dislike was fostered by satirical verse and the exaggerated exposure of small errors, and in 1833 the police came into collision with a mob at Coldbath Fields, when there was a serious and lamentable affray. But already the London vestries were won over. They had been most hostile to the new system, "as opposed to the free institutions of this country, which gave parish authorities the sole control in keeping and securing the peace." They had denounced the new police as importing espionage totally repugnant to the habits and feelings of the British people, and subjecting them to "a disguised military force." These protests formed part of a resolution arrived at by a conference of parishes, which also insisted that those who paid the cost should have the control. Yet a couple of years later these same vestries agreed that "the unfavourable impression and jealousy formerly existing against the new police is rapidly diminishing ... and that it has fully answered the purpose for which it was formed...." This conclusion was supported by some striking statistics. Crime appreciably diminished. The annual losses inflicted on the public by larcenies, burglaries, and highway robberies, which had been estimated at about a million of money, fell to £20,000, and at the same time a larger number of convictions was secured.

It is beyond the limits of this work to give a detailed account of the growth and gradual perfecting of the Metropolitan Police

into the splendid force that watches over the great city to-day. The total strength now, according to the last official returns, is nearly 16,000 of all ranks, and it has about quintupled since its first creation in 1829. The population of London at that date was just one million and a half; the area controlled by the new police not half the present size. Now not far short of 6,000,000 souls are included within the area supervised by our present Metropolitan force, measuring 688 square miles of territory, or some thirty miles across from any point of the circumference of a circle whose centre is at Charing Cross. Throughout the whole of this vast region, which constitutes the greatest human ant-heap the world has ever known, ever growing, too; the blue-coated guardian of the peace is incessantly on patrol, the total length of his beats reaching to about 850 miles. He is unceasingly engaged in duties both various and comprehensive in behalf of his fellow-citizens. By his active and intelligent watchfulness he checks and prevents the commission of crime, and if his vigilance

is unhappily sometimes eluded it is not because he is not eager to pursue and capture offenders. He is exposed to peculiar dangers in protecting the public, but accepts them unhesitatingly, risking his life gladly, and facing brutal and often murderous violence as bravely as any soldier in the breach. In the Whitechapel division, where roughs abound, a fifth of the police contingent in that quarter are injured annually on duty; 9 per cent. of the whole force goes on the sick list during the year from the result of savage assaults. A recent return of officers injured shows a total of 3,112 cases, and these include 2,717 assaults when making arrests, 89 injuries in stopping runaway, horses, 158 bites from dogs, and many injuries sustained in disorderly crowds or when assisting to extinguish fires. The regulation of street traffic is, everybody knows, admirably performed by the police, and they ably control all public carriages. The Lost Property Office is a police institution that renders much efficient service, and in a recent year over 38,000 articles which had been dropped, forgotten, or mislaid were received, and in most cases returned to their owners. They made up a very heterogeneous collection, and included all kinds of birds and live stock--parrots, canaries, larks, rabbits, dogs, and cats; there were books, bicycles, weapons, perambulators, mail carts, golf clubs, sewing machines, and musical instruments. In minor matters the police constable is a universal champion and knight errant. He escorts the softer sex across the crowded thoroughfare as gallantly as any squire of dames; it is a touching sight to watch the lost child walking trustfully hand in hand with the six-foot giant to some haven of safety. If in the West End the man in blue is sometimes on friendly terms with the cook, he is always alert in the silent watches of the night, trying locks and giving necessary warning; in poorer neighbourhoods he is the friend of the family, the referee in disputes, the kindly alarum clock that rouses out the early labourer. It may truly be said that London owes a deep debt of gratitude to its police.

No account, however brief and meagre, of the Metropolitan force would be complete which did not include some reference

to the river and dockyard police. I have already described on earlier pages[14] the systematic depredations that went on amid the Thames shipping in earlier days. This called imperatively for reform, and a marine police was established to watch over our ships and cargoes and guard the wharves and quays. Regular boat patrols were always on the move about the river, and the police, who carried arms, had considerable powers. This Thames branch was not immediately taken over by Peel's new police, but it is now part and parcel of the Metropolitan force, and a very perfect system obtains. The river police has its headquarters in the well-known floating station at Waterloo Bridge, formerly a steamboat pier, with a cutter at Erith, and it also has the services of several small steam launches for rapid transit up and down the river. There is very little crime upon the great waterway, thanks to the vigilance of the Thames police, who also do good work in preventing suicides, while they have many opportunities of calling attention to possible foul play by their recovery of bodies floating on the stream.

What is true of the Metropolitan force applies equally to the City Police. The City forms an _imperium in imperio_, one square mile of absolutely independent territory interpolated in the very heart and centre of London. The City Police was formed at the same time as the Metropolitan, but the great municipality claimed the right to manage its own police affairs, declining Government subsidies as resolutely as it resisted Government control. The House of Commons in 1839 frankly acknowledged that the City was justified in its pretensions, and that it was certain to maintain a good and efficient police force. That anticipation has been fully borne out, and the City Police is admitted on all hands to be a first-class force, well organised and most effective, filled with fine men who reach a high standard both of intelligence and of physique. It has lighter duties by night, when the City empties like a church after service, but during the day it has vast cares and responsibilities, the duty of regulating the congested street traffic in the narrow City thoroughfares being perhaps the most onerous. Like their comrades beyond the boundary, the City police are largely employed by private individuals; banks, exchanges, public offices, and so forth, gladly put themselves under official protection. It should have been mentioned, when dealing with the Metropolitan Police, that some 1,800 officers of all ranks, from superintendents to private constables, are regularly engaged in a variety of posts outside ordinary police duty. Every great department of State is guarded by them; the Sovereign's sacred person, the princes of the blood, the royal palaces, all public buildings, museums and collections, many of the parks and public gardens, the powder factories, are among the institutions confided to their care. Going farther afield, it is interesting to note that great tradesmen, great jewellers, great pickle-makers, great drapers, great card-makers, the co-operative stores, great fruit-growing estates, the public markets--all these share police services with Coutts' and Drummond's Banks, Holland House, Roehampton House, and so on. The whole of our dockyards are under police surveillance; so are the Albert Hall, Brompton Cemetery, and many other institutions.

It is impossible to leave this subject without adverting to the excellent provincial police now invariably established in the great cities and wide country districts, who, especially as regards the former, have an organisation and duties almost identical with those already detailed. The police forces of Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham, Edinburgh, Glasgow, and the rest yield nothing in demeanour, devotion, and daring to their colleagues of the Metropolis. In the counties, where large areas often have to be covered, great responsibility must be devolved upon officers of inferior rank, and it is not abused. These sergeants or inspectors, with their half-dozen men, are so many links in a long-drawn chain. Much depends upon them, their energy and endurance. They, too, have to prevent crime by their constant vigilance on the high roads, and by keeping close watch on all suspicious persons. For the same reason special qualities are needed in the county chief constable and his deputy; the task of superintending their posts at wide distances apart, and controlling the movements of tramps and bad characters through their district, calls for the exercise of peculiar qualities, the power of command, of rapid transfer from place to place, of keen insight into character, of promptitude and decision--qualities that are most often found in military officers, who are, in fact, generally preferred for these appointments.