For days London remained at the mercy of a drunken, frenzied rabble. Murder and incendiarism were committed in every quarter, and many serious and desperate conflicts occurred between the rioters and the law-abiding patriotic citizens. Enthusiasm was displayed by even the latter, when an infuriated mob one night surrounded Albert Gate House, the French Embassy, and, breaking open the door, entered it, and flung the handsome furniture from the windows. Those below made a huge pile in the street, and when the whole of the movable effects had been got out, the crowd set fire to them, and also to the great mansion, at the same time cheering lustily, and singing "Rule, Britannia," as they watched the flames leap up and consume both house and furniture. The servants of the Embassy had fortunately escaped, otherwise they would no doubt have fared badly at the hands of the lawless assembly. When the fire had burned itself out, however, a suggestion was spread, and the mob with one accord rushed to the Russian Embassy in Chesham Place. This house was also entered, and the furniture flung pell-mell from the windows, that too large to pass through being broken up in the rooms, and the fragments thrown to the shouting crowd below. Chairs, tables, ornaments, mirrors, bedding, kitchen utensils, and crockery were thrown out, carpets were taken up, and curtains and cornices torn down by ruthless denizens of Whitechapel and Shoreditch, who, maddened by drink, were determined to destroy everything belonging to the countries which had brought disaster upon them. Presently, when nearly all the furniture had been removed, some man, wild-haired and excited, emerged into the street, with a great flag he had discovered in one of the attics. With a shout of delight he unfurled it. It was a large yellow one, upon which was depicted a huge black double eagle; the flag that had been hoisted at the Embassy on various State occasions. Its appearance was greeted by a fearful howl of rage, and the infuriated people, falling upon the man who waved it, tore it into shreds, which they afterwards cast into the bonfire they had made for the Ambassador's furniture. From the archives the secret papers and reports of spies were taken, and, being torn into fragments, were scattered from an upper window to the winds, until at last, men, snatching up flaring brands from the huge bonfire, rushed into the dismantled mansion, and, having poured petroleum in many of the apartments, ignited them.