The explosion at Whitehall resulted in a most vigorous inquiry. The German Field-Marshal's head-quarters were removed to another portion of the building, and within an hour of the outrage the telegraph instrument—which had been blown to atoms—was replaced by another, and communication with Berlin re-established.
Most rigorous measures were now ordered to be taken for the preservation of law and order. That evening still another of those famous proclamations made its appearance, in which the regulations were repeated, and it was also ordered that in consequence of the outrage any person found in the possession of arms or of explosives was liable to be shot at sight and without any form of trial.
The vagabond part of London was, however, to the fore in giving the Germans all the trouble they could. As the soldiers patrolled the streets they were closely scanned, pointed at, hooted, and assailed with slang that they could not understand. Often the people, in order to show their antagonism, would post themselves in great numbers across a street, say, in Piccadilly, Oxford Street, or the Strand, and refuse to move, so that the troops, to avoid a collision, were obliged to go round by the side streets, amid the loud jeers of the populace.
Whenever a German flag was discovered, a piece of crape was tied to it, or it received some form of insult. The Germans went about with self-possession, even with bravado. In twos or threes they walked together, and seemed as safe as though they were in large numbers. Sometimes a mob of boys would follow, hooting, ridiculing them, and calling them by opprobrious epithets. Occasionally men and women formed around them in groups and engaged in conversation, while everywhere during that first week of the occupation the soldiers of the Kaiser were objects of great curiosity on the part of the alien rabble of the East End.
Hundreds upon hundreds of German workers from Whitechapel fraternised with the enemy, but woe betide
