The Express. — 1868-01-28 (London, England)

THE FENIANS AT BOW-STREET. (THIS DAY.)  The demeanour of the people assembled in Bowstreet and its approaches this morning was in the highest degree suggestive. A stranger standing at the corner of Wellington-street and the Strand at a few minutes before 9 would have been struck with the amused expression of the men and women clustered at the doors of shops, on the steps of newspaper offices, and at odd places in the street. There was something irresistibly attractive abroad, for foot passengers and omnibus riders, cabmen, and crossing-sweepers, were all on the broad grin. Following their glances you saw • couple of unusually stalwart policemen patrolling the pavement quietly and peacefully, but each with • cutlass suspended from the leather girdle encircling the substantial waist of that ugly black serge dressing-gown—the police uniform-coat. That was all. Two or three couples of of large and stolid policemen were dotted about the Strand, end the fact of their wearing swords was positively construed into a comic incident. Presently there was • clatter of horse's-feet, and a harsh rumble of wheels, and a score or so of mounted constables followed by a policevan turned the corner of Wellington-street, at shriek trot, and drawing up in line across the road at Bow-street, kept • clear space in front of the police-office. From the Strand to Bow-street everybody had been abnormally alive. The coatermongers with barrows just filled from Covent-garden ; the potato merchants reckoning up their morning's gains, and regarding the real business of the day as over; the threatrical hair-dresser in night shirt and slippers evidently just roused by the noise from bed ; the sodden-faced people out of the gin-shops neer ; the printer's men and clerks at the various journalistic offices ; the official messengers proceeding to early duty at Somerset-house ; the roughs and blackguards assembled for their regular morning's gossip over the goal-delivery—a guard of dishonour to the state coach ; the wine merchants' men stocking their carte with bulky hampers at the corner ; the poor wretches clustered round the closed doors of the Albion, in ltusaell-street,to beg for broken victuals ; the boot-cleaners under the Lyceum portico, and the carvers at the ham and beef shop, were all laughing. Fenianisin might have been • playful jest, • mere pantomimic demonstration, like a buttered slide or • potted baby, to see the uniform air of puzzled amusement with which the armed policemen were viewed. When the van reached Bowstreet another little cluster of constables, also enthused, with Mr. Superintendent Durkin, looking wonderfully smart and urbane, at their head, received it, while the men on horseback drew in two lines across the street, so as to keep a clear space in front of the police-court. A struggle to peep between the horses ; a vein endeavour to peer through the steam rising in thick clouds from their smoking hides ; • general mounting on cabbage-carte, cab. wheels, and on each other's ahoulders; &glimpse of something alive, but wholly unrecognisable for policemen, now in abet, now in • cap, being handed in regular order between a row of felt helmets, and past Mr. Durkin, into an unpretendinglooking private house, satisfied the crowd. There was no further attempt to see which of the bats or caps covered the alleged authors of the Clerkenwell outrage, nor half so much interest taken in the prisoners is their guard. There was neither sympathy, nor hissing, nor cheering ; and even the usual semi-famticres remark. in which • London mob delights were absent. "Do yer twig their blamed toastin' forks? Oh, my ! ain't you fine, William!" from n coarse Amazon, who was bending under the weight of a hugs basket filled with oranges on her head, was almost the only attempt at chaff we heard. It was all over in two or three minutes, and the prevailing expression of the crowd was one of suppressed amusement. All rememhaulm of the murderous slaughter of Sergeant Brett ; the Vireo deaths on the Manchester scaffold ; the tourers of helpless women and children at Clerkenwell ; the dire threats, and wild alarms of Fenlanism seemed to be obliterated by the mere eight of policemen wearing cutlasses and mounted upon horseback. Any student of the times wishing to test the popular feeling concerning dieafflicted attempts would have read an interesting lemon in the humorous incredulity, the sturdy disbelief in trcason, with which the conjunction of civil officer, and military arms were received this morning.