Facing the current chaotic situation, I have prepared for the worst, but still hold the best hopes for the future. Arthur Hastings wrote in his diary on June 5, 1832.
—George Macaulay Plunkett, "19th Century British History"
Arthur had just left the theater when he sensed a disturbing whiff of unrest on the streets, as if the stench of sweat mingled with the filth of the Thames River, suggesting the whole city was in agonized gasps.
At this dusk-nearing moment, the street gas lamps installed earlier that year were already lit, yet their flickering, shimmering light could not dispel the gloom and fog that descended upon London streets with the night.
Cabs sped across Oxford Street; through the carriage window, Arthur watched as crowds on the stone pathways surged like tumultuous waves, shouting slogans with faces twisted in anger and discontent.
Broken stones, shards of glass, and the wreckage of overturned carriages littered the roads, where order once prevailed.
