Rioting continued during the three days that followed, the paralysed executive submitting in helpless impotence, and it was not until the fifth day that the climax was reached. The mob now suddenly broke out into an almost inconceivable state of fury, and overran the whole of London, pillaging and burning as they went, and spreading terror in every direction: all business was suspended and most of the houses were barricaded; many persons, hoping to pacify the destroying furies, hung blue flags out of their windows and chalked the words "No Popery" on their shutters. An organized attack was made on Newgate, and when the old prison walls successfully withstood all the efforts of the mob to injure them, the furniture from the governor's house was thrown out of the windows and piled up for a bonfire, with the idea of consuming the great wooden gates; when these at length gave way, the rabble poured into the gaol through the smoking gateway, shortly to return bringing with them three hundred liberated prisoners, many of whom were under sentence of death already, and over-ripe for any atrocity. Matters now grew worse than ever, distilleries were broken open, and the raw spirits poured down the gutters to be lapped up by a crowd that was already mad. An attempt to break into the Bank of England was prevented by the guard stationed there, but many houses, including Lord Mansfield's and Sir John Fielding's, were burnt to the ground, and all books and documents destroyed. When thirty-six incendiary fires were raging simultaneously, and when the King's Bench and Fleet prisons had shared the fate of Newgate, the troops and militia, who were employed with vigour only at the eleventh hour, began to get the upper hand of the rioters, and then only by dint of firing volleys into the mass. Gradually through the next two days some semblance of order was restored, and by the third morning the riots were at an end. The official return handed in to the Secretary of State showed that 210 people had been killed by the troops and 248 wounded, several of whom subsequently died; but the bill was not complete: the public hangman claimed 21 more victims, and a much larger number were transported for life. The Lord Mayor of London was tried for his faulty arrangements and for his alleged supineness, but was let off with a fine of a thousand pounds. Lord George Gordon's insanity saved him from the consequences of his misdeeds.