During the progress of the Protestation, the Londoners manifested the greatest excitement; crowds assembled in Palace Yard, and the King sent a message to the House of Lords to say, that, taking notice of the great tumult and concourse of people, he had called a council to advise what should be done, and it was his pleasure that Parliament should adopt some speedy course for preserving peace.[176] A laughable circumstance occurred amidst this panic. Two fat citizens, in the gallery of the Commons, stood earnestly listening to Sir Walter Erle, whilst he was descanting on the dangers of the times. Just then, an old board gave a loud creak, and Sir John Wray, imagining a second Guy Fawkes concealed in the cellar, called out, "he smelt gunpowder." This was enough. Knights and burgesses rushed out and frightened the people in the lobby, and the people in the lobby ran into Westminster Hall, crying, "the Parliament House was falling, and the members were slain." A few, scampering as fast as they could to Westminster Stairs, took water, and rowing at the top of their speed, reached the City, where they caused the alarm drums to beat, and the train bands to march as far as Covent Garden. All this arose from the creaking of a rotten board.[177] The exposure of these idle fears did not, however, compose the House; for, on the 10th of May, members were in such consternation about a gunpowder plot, that the Serjeant-at-arms received an order to get the holes of the floor examined and stopped up; also a committee of five proceeded carefully to search the building to discover and prevent the designs of any ill-affected persons who might be imitating the example of Guy Fawkes. Whilst we smile at these unfounded terrors, we must believe some real danger to have been in the wind, to make strong hearts, such as beat in the Long Parliament, thus flutter with apprehension. [Sidenote: _Debates in the House of Commons._] [Sidenote: 1641, May.] About the same time London echoed with "No popery riots." The presence of Marie de' Medicis in England excited immense uneasiness; and the zeal of that lady and her daughter, Queen Henrietta Maria, on behalf of the interests of the Roman Catholic religion, came to be regarded by Puritan citizens as a fountain of intrigue. At the end of April, the London apprentices--a class always foremost in city frays--catching the spirit of their sires and elders, gave it violent expression, by assaulting the Spanish ambassador's house in Bishopsgate Street, threatening to pull it about his Excellency's ears, and to take his life in revenge for permitting English Papists to frequent his chapel.[178]