ACT SECONDSCENE ITHE DOCKYARD, GIBRALTAR[The Rock is seen rising behind the town and the Alameda Gardens,and the English fleet rides at anchor in the Bay, across which theSpanish shore from Algeciras to Carnero Point shuts in the West.Southward over the Strait is the African coast.]SPIRIT OF THE YEARSOur migratory Proskenion now presentsAn outlook on the storied Kalpe Rock,As preface to the vision of the FleetsSpanish and French, linked for fell purposings.RECORDING ANGEL [reciting]Their motions and manoeuvres, since the fameOf Bonaparte’s enthronment at MilanSwept swift through Europe’s dumbed communities,Have stretched the English mind to wide surmise.Many well-based alarms [which strange reportMuch aggravates] as to the pondered blow,Flutter the public pulse; all points in turn—Malta, Brazil, Wales, Ireland, British Ind—Being held as feasible for force like theirs,Of lavish numbers and unrecking aim.“Where, where is Nelson?” questions every tongue;—“How views he so unparalleled a scheme?”Their slow uncertain apprehensions ask.“When Villeneuve puts to sea with all his force,What may he not achieve, if swift his course!”SPIRIT OF THE YEARSI’ll call in Nelson, who has stepped ashoreFor the first time these thrice twelvemonths and more,And with him one whose insight has alonePierced the real project of Napoléon.[Enter NELSON and COLLINGWOOD, who pace up and down.]SPIRIT OF THE PITIESNote Nelson’s worn-out features. Much has heSuffered from ghoulish ghast anxiety!NELSONIn short, dear Coll, the letter which you wrote meHad so much pith that I was fain to see you;For I am sure that you indeed divineThe true intent and compass of a plotWhich I have spelled in vain.COLLINGWOODI weighed it thus:Their flight to the Indies being to draw us off,That and no more, and clear these coasts of us—The standing obstacle to his device—He cared not what was done at Martinique,Or where, provided that the general endShould not be jeopardized—that is to say,The full-united squadron’s quick return.—Gravina and Villeneuve, once back to Europe,Can straight make Ferrol, raise there the blockade,Then haste to Brest, there to relieve Ganteaume,And next with four-or five-and fifty sailBear down upon our coast as they see fit.—I read they aim to strike at Ireland still,As formerly, and as I wrote to you.NELSONSo far your thoughtful and sagacious wordsHave hit the facts. But ’tis no Irish bayThe villains aim to drop their anchors in;My word for it: they make the Wessex shore,And this vast squadron handled by VilleneuveIs meant to cloak the passage of their strength,Massed on those transports—we being kept elsewhereBy feigning forces.—Good God, Collingwood,I must be gone! Yet two more days remainEre I can get away.—I must be gone!COLLINGWOODWherever you may go to, my dear lord,You carry victory with you. Let them launch,Your name will blow them back, as sou’west galesThe gulls that beat against them from the shore.NELSONGood Collingwood, I know you trust in me;But ships are ships, and do not kindly comeOut of the slow docks of the AdmiraltyLike wharfside pigeons when they are whistled for:—And there’s a damned disparity of force,Which means tough work awhile for you and me![The Spirit of the Years whispers to NELSON.]And I have warnings, warnings, Collingwood,That my effective hours are shortening here;Strange warnings now and then, as ’twere within me,Which, though I fear them not, I recognize!...However, by God’s help, I’ll live to meetThese foreign boasters; yea, I’ll finish them;And then—well, Gunner Death may finish me!COLLINGWOODView not your life so gloomily, my lord:One charmed, a needed purpose to fulfil!NELSONAh, Coll. Lead bullets are not all that wound....I have a feeling here of dying fires,A sense of strong and deep unworded censure,Which, compassing about my private life,Makes all my public service lustrelessIn my own eyes.—I fear I am much condemnedFor those dear Naples and Palermo days,And her who was the sunshine of them all!...He who is with himself dissatisfied,Though all the world find satisfaction in him,Is like a rainbow-coloured bird gone blind,That gives delight it shares not. Happiness?It’s the philosopher’s stone no alchemyShall light on this world I am weary of.—Smiling I’d pass to my long home to-morrowCould I with honour, and my country’s gain.—But let’s adjourn. I waste your hours ashoreBy such ill-timed confessions![They pass out of sight, and the scene closes.]SCENE IIOFF FERROL[The French and Spanish combined squadrons. On board the Frenchadmiral’s flag-ship. VILLENEUVE is discovered in his cabin, writinga letter.]SPIRIT OF THE PITIESHe pens in fits, with pallid restlessness,Like one who sees Misfortune walk the wave,And can nor face nor flee it.SPIRIT OF THE YEARSHe inditesTo his long friend the minister DecrèsWords that go heavily!...VILLENEUVE [writing]“I am made the arbiter in vast designsWhereof I see black outcomes. Do I thisOr do I that, success, that loves to jiltHer anxious wooer for some careless blade,Will not reward me. For, if I must pen it,Demoralized past prayer in the marine—Bad masts, bad sails, bad officers, bad men;We cling to naval technics long outworn,And time and opportunity do not avail meTo take up new. I have long suspected such,But till I saw my helps, the Spanish ships,I hoped somewhat.—Brest is my nominal port;Yet if so, Calder will again attack—Now reinforced by Nelson or Cornwallis—And shatter my whole fleet.... Shall I admitThat my true inclination and desireIs to make Cadiz straightway, and not Brest?Alas! thereby I fail the Emperor;But shame the navy less.—“Your friend, VILLENEUVE”[GENERAL LAURISTON enters.]LAURISTONAdmiral, my missive to the Emperor,Which I shall speed by special courierFrom Ferrol this near eve, runs thus and thus:—“Gravina’s ships, in Ferrol here at hand,Embayed but by a temporary wind,Are all we now await. Combined with theseWe sail herefrom to Brest; there promptly giveCornwallis battle, and release Ganteaume;Thence, all united, bearing Channelwards:A step that sets in motion the first wheelIn the proud project of your MajestyNow to be engined to the very close,To wit: that a French fleet shall enter inAnd hold the Channel four-and-twenty hours.”—Such clear assurance to the EmperorThat our intent is modelled on his willI hasten to dispatch to him forthwith.4VILLENEUVEYes, Lauriston. I sign to every word.[Lauriston goes out. VILLENEUVE remains at his table in reverie.]SPIRIT OF THE YEARSWe may impress him under visible shapesThat seem to shed a silent circling doom;He’s such an one as can be so impressed,And this much is among our privileges,Well bounded as they be.—Let us draw near him.[The Spirits of Years and of the Pities take the form of sea-birds,which alight on the stern-balcony of VILLENEUVE’s ship, immediatelyoutside his cabin window. VILLENEUVE after a while looks up andsees the birds watching him with large piercing eyes.]VILLENEUVEMy apprehensions even outstep their cause,As though some influence smote through yonder pane.[He gazes listlessly, and resumes his broodings.]—-Why dared I not disclose to him my thought,As nightly worded by the whistling shrouds,That Brest will never see our battled hullsHelming to north in pomp of cannonryTo take the front in this red pilgrimage!—-If so it were, now, that I’d screen my skinFrom risks of bloody business in the brunt,My acts could scarcely wear a difference.Yet I would die to-morrow—not ungladly—So far removed is carcase-care from me.For no self do these apprehensions spring,But for the cause.—Yes, rotten is our marine,Which, while I know, the Emperor knows not,And the pale secret chills! Though some there beWould beard contingencies and buffet all,I’ll not command a course so conscienceless.Rather I’ll stand, and face Napoléon’s rageWhen he shall learn what mean the ambiguous linesThat facts have forced from me.SPIRIT OF THE PITIES [to the Spirit of Years]O Eldest-born of the Unconscious Cause—If such thou beest, as I can fancy thee—Why dost thou rack him thus? ConsistencyMight be preserved, and yet his doom remain.His olden courage is without reproach;Albeit his temper trends toward gaingiving!SPIRIT OF THE YEARSI say, as I have said long heretofore,I know but narrow freedom. Feel’st thou notWe are in Its hand, as he?—Here, as elsewhere,We do but as we may; no further dare.[The birds disappear, and the scene is lost behind sea-mist.]SCENE IIITHE CAMP AND HARBOUR OF BOULOGNE[The English coast in the distance. Near the Tour d’Ordre standsa hut, with sentinels and aides outside; it is NAPOLÉON’s temporarylodging when not at his headquarters at the Chateau of Pont-de-Briques, two miles inland.]DUMB SHOWA courier arrives with dispatches, and enters the Emperor’s quarters,whence he emerges and goes on with other dispatches to the hut ofDECRÈS, lower down. Immediately after, NAPOLÉON comes out from hishut with a paper in his hand, and musingly proceeds towards aneminence commanding the Channel.Along the shore below are forming in a far-reaching line morethan a hundred thousand infantry. On the downs in the rear ofthe camps fifteen thousand cavalry are manoeuvring, theiraccoutrements flashing in the sun like a school of mackerel.The flotilla lies in and around the port, alive with movingfigures.With his head forward and his hands behind him the Emperor surveysthese animated proceedings in detail, but more frequently turns hisface toward the telegraph on the cliff to the southwest, erected tosignal when VILLENEUVE and the combined squadrons shall be visibleon the west horizon.He summons one of the aides, who descends to the hut of DECRÈS.DECRÈS comes out from his hut, and hastens to join the Emperor.Dumb show ends.[NAPOLÉON and DECRÈS advance to the foreground of the scene.]NAPOLÉONDecrès, this action with Sir Robert CalderThree weeks ago, whereof we dimly heard,And clear details of which I have just unsealed,Is on the whole auspicious for our plan.It seems that twenty of our ships and Spain’s—None over eighty-gunned, and some far less—Engaged the English off Cape FinisterreWith fifteen vessels of a hundred each.We coolly fought and orderly as they,And, but for mist, we had closed with victory.Two English were much mauled, some Spanish damaged,And Calder then drew off with his two wrecksAnd Spain’s in tow, we giving chase forthwith.Not overtaking him our admiral,Having the coast clear for his purposes,Entered Coruna, and found order thereTo open the port of Brest and come on hither.Thus hastes the moment when the double fleetOf Villeneuve and of Ganteaume should appear.[He looks again towards the telegraph.]DECRÈS [with hesitation]And should they not appear, your Majesty?NAPOLÉONNot? But they will; and do it early, too!There’s nothing hinders them. My God, they must,For I have much before me when this strokeAt England’s dealt. I learn from TalleyrandThat Austrian preparations threaten hot,While Russia’s hostile schemes are ripening,And shortly must be met.—My plan is fixed:I am prepared for each alternative.If Villeneuve come, I brave the British coast,Convulse the land with fear [’tis even nowSo far distraught, that generals cast aboutTo find new modes of warfare; yea, designCarriages to transport their infantry!].—Once on the English soil I hold it firm,Descend on London, and the while my menSalute the dome of Paul’s I cut the knotOf all Pitt’s coalitions; setting freeFrom bondage to a cold manorial casteA people who await it.[They stand and regard the chalky cliffs of England, till NAPOLÉONresumes]:Should it beEven that my admirals fail to keep the tryst—A thing scarce thinkable, when all’s reviewed—I strike this seaside camp, cross Germany,With these two hundred thousand seasoned men,And pause not till within Vienna’s wallsI cry checkmate. Next, Venice, too, being taken,And Austria’s other holdings down that way,The Bourbons also driven from Italy,I strike at Russia—each in turn, you note,Ere they can act conjoined.Report to meWhat has been scanned to-day upon the main,And on your passage down request them thereTo send Daru this way.DECRÈS [as he withdraws]The Emperor can be sanguine. Scarce can I.His letters are more promising than mine.Alas, alas, Villeneuve, my dear old friend,Why do you pen me this at such a time![He retires reading VILLENEUVE’S letter. The Emperor walks up anddown till DARU, his private secretary, joins him.]NAPOLÉONCome quick, Daru; sit down upon the grass,And write whilst I am in mind.First to Villeneuve:—“I trust, Vice-Admiral, that before this dateYour fleet has opened Brest, and gone. If not,These lines will greet you there. But pause not, pray:Waste not a moment dallying. Sail away:Once bring my coupled squadrons ChannelwardsAnd England’s soil is ours. All’s ready here,The troops alert, and every store embarked.Hold the nigh sea but four-and-twenty hoursAnd our vast end is gained.”Now to Ganteaume:—“My telegraphs will have made known to youMy object and desire to be but this,That you forbid Villeneuve to lose an hourIn getting fit and putting forth to sea,To profit by the fifty first-rate craftWherewith I now am bettered. Quickly weigh,And steer you for the Channel with all your strength.I count upon your well-known character,Your enterprize, your vigour, to do this.Sail hither, then; and we will be avengedFor centuries of despite and contumely.”DARUShall a fair transcript, Sire, be made forthwith?NAPOLÉONThis moment. And the courier will departAnd travel without pause.[DARU goes to his office a little lower down, and the Emperorlingers on the cliffs looking through his glass.The point of view shifts across the Channel, the Boulogne cliffssinking behind the water-line.]SCENE IVSOUTH WESSEX. A RIDGE-LIKE DOWN NEAR THE COAST[The down commands a wide view over the English Channel in frontof it, including the popular Royal watering-place, with the Isleof Slingers and its roadstead, where men-of-war and frigates areanchored. The hour is ten in the morning, and the July sun glowsupon a large military encampment round about the foreground, andwarms the stone field-walls that take the place of hedges here.Artillery, cavalry, and infantry, English and Hanoverian, aredrawn up for review under the DUKE OF CUMBERLAND and officersof the staff, forming a vast military array, which extendsthree miles, and as far as the downs are visible.In the centre by the Royal Standard appears KING GEORGE onhorseback, and his suite. In a coach drawn by six cream-coloured Hanoverian horses, QUEEN CHARLOTTE sits with threePrincesses; in another carriage with four horses are two morePrincesses. There are also present with the Royal Party theLORD CHANCELLOR, LORD MULGRAVE, COUNT MUNSTER, and many otherluminaries of fashion and influence.The Review proceeds in dumb show; and the din of many bandsmingles with the cheers. The turf behind the saluting-pointis crowded with carriages and spectators on foot.]A SPECTATORAnd you’ve come to the sight, like the King and myself? Well, onefool makes many. What a mampus o’ folk it is here to-day! And whata time we do live in, between wars and wassailings, the goblin o’Boney, and King George in flesh and blood!SECOND SPECTATORYes. I wonder King George is let venture down on this coast, wherehe might be snapped up in a moment like a minney by a her’n, so nearas we be to the field of Boney’s vagaries! Begad, he’s as like toland here as anywhere. Gloucester Lodge could be surrounded, andGeorge and Charlotte carried off before he could put on his hat, orshe her red cloak and pattens!THIRD SPECTATOR’Twould be so such joke to kidnap ’em as you think. Look at thefrigates down there. Every night they are drawn up in a lineacross the mouth of the Bay, almost touching each other; andashore a double line of sentinels, well primed with beer andammunition, one at the water’s edge and the other on theEsplanade, stretch along the whole front. Then close to theLodge a guard is mounted after eight o’clock; there be picketson all the hills; at the Harbour mouth is a battery of twentyfour-pounders; and over-right ’em a dozen six-pounders, andseveral howitzers. And next look at the size of the camp ofhorse and foot up here.FIRST SPECTATOREverybody however was fairly gallied this week when the King wentout yachting, meaning to be back for the theatre; and the eight ornine o’clock came, and never a sign of him. I don’t know when ’adid land; but ’twas said by all that it was a foolhardy pleasureto take.FOURTH SPECTATORHe’s a very obstinate and comical old gentleman; and by all account’a wouldn’t make port when asked to.SECOND SPECTATORLard, Lard, if ’a were nabbed, it wouldn’t make a deal of difference!We should have nobody to zing, and play singlestick to, and grin atthrough horse-collars, that’s true. And nobody to sign our fewdocuments. But we should rub along some way, goodnow.FIRST SPECTATORStep up on this barrow; you can see better. The troopers now passingare the York Hussars—foreigners to a man, except the officers—thesame regiment the two young Germans belonged to who were shot fouryears ago. Now come the Light Dragoons; what a time they take toget all past! Well, well! this day will be recorded in history.SECOND SPECTATOROr another soon to follow it! [He gazes over the Channel.] There’snot a speck of an enemy upon that shiny water yet; but the Brestfleet is zaid to have put to sea, to act in concert with the armycrossing from Boulogne; and if so the French will soon be here; whenGod save us all! I’ve took to drinking neat, for, say I, one mayas well have innerds burnt out as shot out, and ’tis a good dealpleasanter for the man that owns ’em. They say that a cannon-ballknocked poor Jim Popple’s maw right up into the futtock-shrouds atthe Nile, where ’a hung like a nightcap out to dry. Much good tohim his obeying his old mother’s wish and refusing his allowanceo’ rum![The bands play and the Review continues till past eleven o’clock.Then follows a sham fight. At noon precisely the royal carriagesdraw off the ground into the highway that leads down to the townand Gloucester Lodge, followed by other equipages in such numbersthat the road is blocked. A multitude comes after on foot.Presently the vehicles manage to proceed to the watering-place, andthe troops march away to the various camps as a sea-mist cloaks theperspective.]SCENE VTHE SAME. RAINBARROW’S BEACON, EGDON HEATH[Night in mid-August of the same summer. A lofty ridge ofheathland reveals itself dimly, terminating in an abrupt slope,at the summit of which are three tumuli. On the sheltered sideof the most prominent of these stands a hut of turves with abrick chimney. In front are two ricks of fuel, one of heatherand furze for quick ignition, the other of wood, for slow burning.Something in the feel of the darkness and in the personality ofthe spot imparts a sense of uninterrupted space around, the viewby day extending from the cliffs of the Isle of Wight eastwardto Blackdon Hill by Deadman’s Bay westward, and south across theValley of the Froom to the ridge that screens the Channel.Two men with pikes loom up, on duty as beacon-keepers beside thericks.]OLD MANNow, Jems Purchess, once more mark my words. Black’on is the pointwe’ve to watch, and not Kingsbere; and I’ll tell ’ee for why. If hedo land anywhere hereabout ’twill be inside Deadman’s Bay, and thesignal will straightaway come from Black’on. But there thou’ststand, glowering and staring with all thy eyes at Kingsbere! I tell’ee what ’tis, Jem Purchess, your brain is softening; and you begetting too old for business of state like ours!YOUNG MANYou’ve let your tongue wrack your few rames of good breeding, John.OLD MANThe words of my Lord-Lieutenant was, whenever you see Kingsbere-HillBeacon fired to the eastward, or Black’on to the westward, light up;and keep your second fire burning for two hours. Was that ourdocuments or was it not?YOUNG MANI don’t gainsay it. And so I keep my eye on Kingsbere because that’smost likely o’ the two, says I.OLD MANThat shows the curious depths of your ignorance. However, I’ll havepatience, and say on. Didst ever larn geography?YOUNG MANNo. Nor no other corrupt practices.OLD MANTcht-tcht!—Well, I’ll have patience, and put it to him in anotherform. Dost know the world is round—eh? I warrant dostn’t!YOUNG MANI warrant I do!OLD MANHow d’ye make that out, when th’st never been to school?YOUNG MANI larned it at church, thank God.OLD MANChurch? What have God A’mighty got to do with profane knowledge?Beware that you baint blaspheming, Jems Purchess!YOUNG MANI say I did, whether or no! ’Twas the zingers up in gallery thatI had it from. They busted out that strong with “the round worldand they that dwell therein,” that we common fokes down under coulddo no less than believe ’em.OLD MANCanst be sharp enough in the wrong place as usual—I warrant canst!However, I’ll have patience with ’en and say on!—Suppose, now, myhat is the world; and there, as might be, stands the Camp of Belong,where Boney is. The world goes round, so, and Belong goes round too.Twelve hours pass; round goes the world still—so. Where’s Belongnow?[A pause. Two other figures, a man’s and a woman’s, rise againstthe sky out of the gloom.]OLD MAN [shouldering his pike]Who goes there? Friend or foe, in the King’s name!WOMANPiece o’ trumpery! “Who goes” yourself! What d’ye talk o’, JohnWhiting! Can’t your eyes earn their living any longer, then, thatyou don’t know your own neighbours? ’Tis Private Cantle of theLocals and his wife Keziar, down at Bloom’s-End—who else shouldit be!OLD MAN [lowering his pike]A form o’ words, Mis’ess Cantle, no more; ordained by his Majesty’sGover’ment to be spoke by all we on sworn duty for the defence o’ thecountry. Strict rank-and-file rules is our only horn of salvation inthese times.—But, my dear woman, why ever have ye come lumpering upto Rainbarrows at this time o’ night?WOMANWe’ve been troubled with bad dreams, owing to the firing out at seayesterday; and at last I could sleep no more, feeling sure thatsommat boded of His coming. And I said to Cantle, I’ll ray myself,and go up to Beacon, and ask if anything have been heard or seen to-night. And here we be.OLD MANNot a sign or sound—all’s as still as a churchyard. And how isyour good man?PRIVATE [advancing]Clk. I be all right! I was in the ranks, helping to keep the groundat the review by the King this week. We was a wonderful sight—wonderful! The King said so again and again.—Yes, there was he, andthere was I, though not daring to move a’ eyebrow in the presence ofMajesty. I have come home on a night’s leave—off there again to-morrow. Boney’s expected every day, the Lord be praised! Yes, ourhopes are to be fulfilled soon, as we say in the army.OLD MANThere, there, Cantle; don’t ye speak quite so large, and standso over-upright. Your back is as holler as a fire-dog’s. Do yesuppose that we on active service here don’t know war news? Mindyou don’t go taking to your heels when the next alarm comes, as youdid at last year’s.PRIVATEThat had nothing to do with fighting, for I’m as bold as a lion whenI’m up, and “Shoulder Fawlocks!” sounds as common as my own name tome. ’Twas—- [lowering his voice.] Have ye heard?OLD MANTo be sure we have.PRIVATEGhastly, isn’t it!OLD MANGhastly! Frightful!YOUNG MAN [to Private]He don’t know what it is! That’s his pride and puffery. What is itthat’ so ghastly—hey?PRIVATEWell, there, I can’t tell it. ’Twas that that made the whole eightyof our company run away—though we be the bravest of the brave innatural jeopardies, or the little boys wouldn’t run after us andcall us and call us the “Bang-up-Locals.”WOMAN [in undertones]I can tell you a word or two on’t. It is about His victuals. Theysay that He lives upon human flesh, and has rashers o’ baby everymorning for breakfast—for all the world like the Cernal Giant inold ancient times!YOUNG MANYe can’t believe all ye hear.PRIVATEI only believe half. And I only own—such is my challengefulcharacter—that perhaps He do eat pagan infants when He’s in thedesert. But not Christian ones at home. Oh no—’tis too much.WOMANWhether or no, I sometimes—God forgive me!—laugh wi’ horror atthe queerness o’t, till I am that weak I can hardly go round thehouse. He should have the washing of ’em a few times; I warrant’a wouldn’t want to eat babies any more![A silence, during which they gaze around at the dark dome of thestarless sky.]YOUNG MANThere’ll be a change in the weather soon, by the look o’t. I canhear the cows moo in Froom Valley as if I were close to ’em, andthe lantern at Max Turnpike is shining quite plain.OLD MANWell, come in and taste a drop o’ sommat we’ve got here, that willwarm the cockles of your heart as ye wamble homealong. We housedeighty tuns last night for them that shan’t be named—landed atLullwind Cove the night afore, though they had a narrow shave withthe riding-officers this run.[They make toward the hut, when a light on the west horizon becomesvisible, and quickly enlarges.]YOUNG MANHe’s come!OLD MANCome he is, though you do say it! This, then, is the beginning ofwhat England’s waited for![They stand and watch the light awhile.]YOUNG MANJust what you was praising the Lord for by-now, Private Cantle.PRIVATEMy meaning was—-WOMAN [simpering]Oh that I hadn’t married a fiery sojer, to make me bring fatherlesschildren into the world, all through his dreadful calling! Whydidn’t a man of no sprawl content me!OLD MAN [shouldering his pike]We can’t heed your innocent pratings any longer, good neighbours,being in the King’s service, and a hot invasion on. Fall in, fallin, mate. Straight to the tinder-box. Quick march![The two men hasten to the hut, and are heard striking a flintand steel. Returning with a lit lantern they ignite a blaze.The private of the Locals and his wife hastily retreat by thelight of the flaming beacon, under which the purple rotunditiesof the heath show like bronze, and the pits like the eye-socketsof a skull.]SPIRIT SINISTERThis is good, and spells blood. [To the Chorus of the Years.] Iassume that It means to let us carry out this invasion with pleasingslaughter, so as not to disappoint my hope?SEMICHORUS I OF THE YEARS [aerial music]We carry out? Nay, but should weOrdain what bloodshed is to be it!SEMICHORUS IIThe Immanent, that urgeth all,Rules what may or may not befall!SEMICHORUS IEre systemed suns were globed and litThe slaughters of the race were writ,SEMICHORUS IIAnd wasting wars, by land and sea,Fixed, like all else, immutably!SPIRIT SINISTERWell; be it so. My argument is that War makes rattling goodhistory; but Peace is poor reading. So I back Bonaparte forthe reason that he will give pleasure to posterity.SPIRIT OF THE PITIESGross hypocrite!CHORUS OF THE YEARSWe comprehend him not.[The day breaks over the heathery upland, on which the beaconis still burning. The morning reveals the white surface of ahighway which, coming from the royal watering-place beyond thehills, stretched towards the outskirts of the heath and passesaway eastward.]DUMB SHOWMoving figures and vehicles dot the surface of the road, allprogressing in one direction, away from the coast. In theforeground the shapes appear as those of civilians, mostly onfoot, but many in gigs and tradesmen’s carts and on horseback.When they reach an intermediate hill some pause and look back;others enter on the next decline landwards without turningtheir heads.From the opposite horizon numerous companies of volunteers, in thelocal uniform of red with green facings,5are moving coastwards incompanies; as are also irregular bodies of pikemen without uniform;while on the upper slopes of the downs towards the shore regimentsof the line are visible, with cavalry and artillery; all passingover to the coast.At a signal from the Chief Intelligences two Phantoms of Rumour enteron the highway in the garb of country-men.FIRST PHANTOM [to Pedestrians]Wither so fast, good neighbours, and before breakfast, too? Emptybellies be bad to vamp on.FIRST PEDESTRIANHe’s landed west’ard, out by Abbot’s Beach. And if you have propertyyou’ll save it and yourselves, as we are doing!SECOND PEDESTRIANAll yesterday the firing at BoulogneWas like the seven thunders heard in HeavenWhen the fierce angel spoke. So did he drawFull-manned, flat-bottomed for the shallowest shore,Dropped down to west, and crossed our frontage here.Seen from above they specked the water-shineAs will a flight of swallows toward dim eve,Descending on a smooth and loitering streamTo seek some eyot’s sedge.SECOND PHANTOMWe are sent to enlighten you and ease your soul.Even now a courier canters to the portTo check the baseless scare.FIRST PEDESTRIANThese be inland men who, I warrant ’ee, don’t know a lerret from alighter! Let’s take no heed of such, comrade; and hurry on!FIRST PHANTOMWill you not hearThat what was seen behind the midnight mist,Their oar-blades tossing twinkles to the moon,Was but a fleet of fishing-craft belatedBy reason of the vastness of their haul?FIRST PEDESTRIANHey? And d’ye know it?—Now I look back to the top o’ Rudgewaythe folk seem as come to a pause there.—Be this true, never againdo I stir my stumps for any alarm short of the Day of Judgment!Nine times has my rheumatical rest been broke in these last threeyears by hues and cries of Boney upon us. ’Od rot the feller;now he’s made a fool of me once more, till my inside is like awash-tub, what wi’ being so gallied, and running so leery!—Buthow if you be one of the enemy, sent to sow these tares, so tospeak it, these false tidings, and coax us into a fancied safety?Hey, neighbours? I don’t, after all, care for this story!SECOND PEDESTRIANOnwards again!If Boney’s come, ’tis best to be away;And if he’s not, why, we’ve a holiday![Exeunt Pedestrians. The Spirits of Rumour vanish, while the sceneseems to become involved in the smoke from the beacon, and slowlydisappears.6]
THE DOCKYARD, GIBRALTAR[The Rock is seen rising behind the town and the Alameda Gardens,and the English fleet rides at anchor in the Bay, across which theSpanish shore from Algeciras to Carnero Point shuts in the West.Southward over the Strait is the African coast.]
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSOur migratory Proskenion now presentsAn outlook on the storied Kalpe Rock,As preface to the vision of the FleetsSpanish and French, linked for fell purposings.
RECORDING ANGEL [reciting]Their motions and manoeuvres, since the fameOf Bonaparte’s enthronment at MilanSwept swift through Europe’s dumbed communities,Have stretched the English mind to wide surmise.Many well-based alarms [which strange reportMuch aggravates] as to the pondered blow,Flutter the public pulse; all points in turn—Malta, Brazil, Wales, Ireland, British Ind—Being held as feasible for force like theirs,Of lavish numbers and unrecking aim.“Where, where is Nelson?” questions every tongue;—“How views he so unparalleled a scheme?”Their slow uncertain apprehensions ask.“When Villeneuve puts to sea with all his force,What may he not achieve, if swift his course!”
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSI’ll call in Nelson, who has stepped ashoreFor the first time these thrice twelvemonths and more,And with him one whose insight has alonePierced the real project of Napoléon.[Enter NELSON and COLLINGWOOD, who pace up and down.]
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESNote Nelson’s worn-out features. Much has heSuffered from ghoulish ghast anxiety!
NELSONIn short, dear Coll, the letter which you wrote meHad so much pith that I was fain to see you;For I am sure that you indeed divineThe true intent and compass of a plotWhich I have spelled in vain.
COLLINGWOODI weighed it thus:Their flight to the Indies being to draw us off,That and no more, and clear these coasts of us—The standing obstacle to his device—He cared not what was done at Martinique,Or where, provided that the general endShould not be jeopardized—that is to say,The full-united squadron’s quick return.—Gravina and Villeneuve, once back to Europe,Can straight make Ferrol, raise there the blockade,Then haste to Brest, there to relieve Ganteaume,And next with four-or five-and fifty sailBear down upon our coast as they see fit.—I read they aim to strike at Ireland still,As formerly, and as I wrote to you.
NELSONSo far your thoughtful and sagacious wordsHave hit the facts. But ’tis no Irish bayThe villains aim to drop their anchors in;My word for it: they make the Wessex shore,And this vast squadron handled by VilleneuveIs meant to cloak the passage of their strength,Massed on those transports—we being kept elsewhereBy feigning forces.—Good God, Collingwood,I must be gone! Yet two more days remainEre I can get away.—I must be gone!
COLLINGWOODWherever you may go to, my dear lord,You carry victory with you. Let them launch,Your name will blow them back, as sou’west galesThe gulls that beat against them from the shore.
NELSONGood Collingwood, I know you trust in me;But ships are ships, and do not kindly comeOut of the slow docks of the AdmiraltyLike wharfside pigeons when they are whistled for:—And there’s a damned disparity of force,Which means tough work awhile for you and me![The Spirit of the Years whispers to NELSON.]And I have warnings, warnings, Collingwood,That my effective hours are shortening here;Strange warnings now and then, as ’twere within me,Which, though I fear them not, I recognize!...However, by God’s help, I’ll live to meetThese foreign boasters; yea, I’ll finish them;And then—well, Gunner Death may finish me!COLLINGWOODView not your life so gloomily, my lord:One charmed, a needed purpose to fulfil!
NELSONAh, Coll. Lead bullets are not all that wound....I have a feeling here of dying fires,A sense of strong and deep unworded censure,Which, compassing about my private life,Makes all my public service lustrelessIn my own eyes.—I fear I am much condemnedFor those dear Naples and Palermo days,And her who was the sunshine of them all!...He who is with himself dissatisfied,Though all the world find satisfaction in him,Is like a rainbow-coloured bird gone blind,That gives delight it shares not. Happiness?It’s the philosopher’s stone no alchemyShall light on this world I am weary of.—Smiling I’d pass to my long home to-morrowCould I with honour, and my country’s gain.—But let’s adjourn. I waste your hours ashoreBy such ill-timed confessions![They pass out of sight, and the scene closes.]
OFF FERROL[The French and Spanish combined squadrons. On board the Frenchadmiral’s flag-ship. VILLENEUVE is discovered in his cabin, writinga letter.]
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESHe pens in fits, with pallid restlessness,Like one who sees Misfortune walk the wave,And can nor face nor flee it.
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSHe inditesTo his long friend the minister DecrèsWords that go heavily!...
VILLENEUVE [writing]“I am made the arbiter in vast designsWhereof I see black outcomes. Do I thisOr do I that, success, that loves to jiltHer anxious wooer for some careless blade,Will not reward me. For, if I must pen it,Demoralized past prayer in the marine—Bad masts, bad sails, bad officers, bad men;We cling to naval technics long outworn,And time and opportunity do not avail meTo take up new. I have long suspected such,But till I saw my helps, the Spanish ships,I hoped somewhat.—Brest is my nominal port;Yet if so, Calder will again attack—Now reinforced by Nelson or Cornwallis—And shatter my whole fleet.... Shall I admitThat my true inclination and desireIs to make Cadiz straightway, and not Brest?Alas! thereby I fail the Emperor;But shame the navy less.—“Your friend, VILLENEUVE”[GENERAL LAURISTON enters.]
LAURISTONAdmiral, my missive to the Emperor,Which I shall speed by special courierFrom Ferrol this near eve, runs thus and thus:—“Gravina’s ships, in Ferrol here at hand,Embayed but by a temporary wind,Are all we now await. Combined with theseWe sail herefrom to Brest; there promptly giveCornwallis battle, and release Ganteaume;Thence, all united, bearing Channelwards:A step that sets in motion the first wheelIn the proud project of your MajestyNow to be engined to the very close,To wit: that a French fleet shall enter inAnd hold the Channel four-and-twenty hours.”—Such clear assurance to the EmperorThat our intent is modelled on his willI hasten to dispatch to him forthwith.4
VILLENEUVEYes, Lauriston. I sign to every word.[Lauriston goes out. VILLENEUVE remains at his table in reverie.]
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSWe may impress him under visible shapesThat seem to shed a silent circling doom;He’s such an one as can be so impressed,And this much is among our privileges,Well bounded as they be.—Let us draw near him.[The Spirits of Years and of the Pities take the form of sea-birds,which alight on the stern-balcony of VILLENEUVE’s ship, immediatelyoutside his cabin window. VILLENEUVE after a while looks up andsees the birds watching him with large piercing eyes.]
VILLENEUVEMy apprehensions even outstep their cause,As though some influence smote through yonder pane.[He gazes listlessly, and resumes his broodings.]—-Why dared I not disclose to him my thought,As nightly worded by the whistling shrouds,That Brest will never see our battled hullsHelming to north in pomp of cannonryTo take the front in this red pilgrimage!—-If so it were, now, that I’d screen my skinFrom risks of bloody business in the brunt,My acts could scarcely wear a difference.Yet I would die to-morrow—not ungladly—So far removed is carcase-care from me.For no self do these apprehensions spring,But for the cause.—Yes, rotten is our marine,Which, while I know, the Emperor knows not,And the pale secret chills! Though some there beWould beard contingencies and buffet all,I’ll not command a course so conscienceless.Rather I’ll stand, and face Napoléon’s rageWhen he shall learn what mean the ambiguous linesThat facts have forced from me.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES [to the Spirit of Years]O Eldest-born of the Unconscious Cause—If such thou beest, as I can fancy thee—Why dost thou rack him thus? ConsistencyMight be preserved, and yet his doom remain.His olden courage is without reproach;Albeit his temper trends toward gaingiving!
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSI say, as I have said long heretofore,I know but narrow freedom. Feel’st thou notWe are in Its hand, as he?—Here, as elsewhere,We do but as we may; no further dare.[The birds disappear, and the scene is lost behind sea-mist.]
THE CAMP AND HARBOUR OF BOULOGNE[The English coast in the distance. Near the Tour d’Ordre standsa hut, with sentinels and aides outside; it is NAPOLÉON’s temporarylodging when not at his headquarters at the Chateau of Pont-de-Briques, two miles inland.]
DUMB SHOWA courier arrives with dispatches, and enters the Emperor’s quarters,whence he emerges and goes on with other dispatches to the hut ofDECRÈS, lower down. Immediately after, NAPOLÉON comes out from hishut with a paper in his hand, and musingly proceeds towards aneminence commanding the Channel.Along the shore below are forming in a far-reaching line morethan a hundred thousand infantry. On the downs in the rear ofthe camps fifteen thousand cavalry are manoeuvring, theiraccoutrements flashing in the sun like a school of mackerel.The flotilla lies in and around the port, alive with movingfigures.With his head forward and his hands behind him the Emperor surveysthese animated proceedings in detail, but more frequently turns hisface toward the telegraph on the cliff to the southwest, erected tosignal when VILLENEUVE and the combined squadrons shall be visibleon the west horizon.He summons one of the aides, who descends to the hut of DECRÈS.DECRÈS comes out from his hut, and hastens to join the Emperor.Dumb show ends.[NAPOLÉON and DECRÈS advance to the foreground of the scene.]
NAPOLÉONDecrès, this action with Sir Robert CalderThree weeks ago, whereof we dimly heard,And clear details of which I have just unsealed,Is on the whole auspicious for our plan.It seems that twenty of our ships and Spain’s—None over eighty-gunned, and some far less—Engaged the English off Cape FinisterreWith fifteen vessels of a hundred each.We coolly fought and orderly as they,And, but for mist, we had closed with victory.Two English were much mauled, some Spanish damaged,And Calder then drew off with his two wrecksAnd Spain’s in tow, we giving chase forthwith.Not overtaking him our admiral,Having the coast clear for his purposes,Entered Coruna, and found order thereTo open the port of Brest and come on hither.Thus hastes the moment when the double fleetOf Villeneuve and of Ganteaume should appear.[He looks again towards the telegraph.]
DECRÈS [with hesitation]And should they not appear, your Majesty?
NAPOLÉONNot? But they will; and do it early, too!There’s nothing hinders them. My God, they must,For I have much before me when this strokeAt England’s dealt. I learn from TalleyrandThat Austrian preparations threaten hot,While Russia’s hostile schemes are ripening,And shortly must be met.—My plan is fixed:I am prepared for each alternative.If Villeneuve come, I brave the British coast,Convulse the land with fear [’tis even nowSo far distraught, that generals cast aboutTo find new modes of warfare; yea, designCarriages to transport their infantry!].—Once on the English soil I hold it firm,Descend on London, and the while my menSalute the dome of Paul’s I cut the knotOf all Pitt’s coalitions; setting freeFrom bondage to a cold manorial casteA people who await it.[They stand and regard the chalky cliffs of England, till NAPOLÉONresumes]:Should it beEven that my admirals fail to keep the tryst—A thing scarce thinkable, when all’s reviewed—I strike this seaside camp, cross Germany,With these two hundred thousand seasoned men,And pause not till within Vienna’s wallsI cry checkmate. Next, Venice, too, being taken,And Austria’s other holdings down that way,The Bourbons also driven from Italy,I strike at Russia—each in turn, you note,Ere they can act conjoined.Report to meWhat has been scanned to-day upon the main,And on your passage down request them thereTo send Daru this way.
DECRÈS [as he withdraws]The Emperor can be sanguine. Scarce can I.His letters are more promising than mine.Alas, alas, Villeneuve, my dear old friend,Why do you pen me this at such a time![He retires reading VILLENEUVE’S letter. The Emperor walks up anddown till DARU, his private secretary, joins him.]
NAPOLÉONCome quick, Daru; sit down upon the grass,And write whilst I am in mind.First to Villeneuve:—“I trust, Vice-Admiral, that before this dateYour fleet has opened Brest, and gone. If not,These lines will greet you there. But pause not, pray:Waste not a moment dallying. Sail away:Once bring my coupled squadrons ChannelwardsAnd England’s soil is ours. All’s ready here,The troops alert, and every store embarked.Hold the nigh sea but four-and-twenty hoursAnd our vast end is gained.”Now to Ganteaume:—“My telegraphs will have made known to youMy object and desire to be but this,That you forbid Villeneuve to lose an hourIn getting fit and putting forth to sea,To profit by the fifty first-rate craftWherewith I now am bettered. Quickly weigh,And steer you for the Channel with all your strength.I count upon your well-known character,Your enterprize, your vigour, to do this.Sail hither, then; and we will be avengedFor centuries of despite and contumely.”
DARUShall a fair transcript, Sire, be made forthwith?
NAPOLÉONThis moment. And the courier will departAnd travel without pause.[DARU goes to his office a little lower down, and the Emperorlingers on the cliffs looking through his glass.The point of view shifts across the Channel, the Boulogne cliffssinking behind the water-line.]
SOUTH WESSEX. A RIDGE-LIKE DOWN NEAR THE COAST[The down commands a wide view over the English Channel in frontof it, including the popular Royal watering-place, with the Isleof Slingers and its roadstead, where men-of-war and frigates areanchored. The hour is ten in the morning, and the July sun glowsupon a large military encampment round about the foreground, andwarms the stone field-walls that take the place of hedges here.Artillery, cavalry, and infantry, English and Hanoverian, aredrawn up for review under the DUKE OF CUMBERLAND and officersof the staff, forming a vast military array, which extendsthree miles, and as far as the downs are visible.In the centre by the Royal Standard appears KING GEORGE onhorseback, and his suite. In a coach drawn by six cream-coloured Hanoverian horses, QUEEN CHARLOTTE sits with threePrincesses; in another carriage with four horses are two morePrincesses. There are also present with the Royal Party theLORD CHANCELLOR, LORD MULGRAVE, COUNT MUNSTER, and many otherluminaries of fashion and influence.The Review proceeds in dumb show; and the din of many bandsmingles with the cheers. The turf behind the saluting-pointis crowded with carriages and spectators on foot.]
A SPECTATORAnd you’ve come to the sight, like the King and myself? Well, onefool makes many. What a mampus o’ folk it is here to-day! And whata time we do live in, between wars and wassailings, the goblin o’Boney, and King George in flesh and blood!
SECOND SPECTATORYes. I wonder King George is let venture down on this coast, wherehe might be snapped up in a moment like a minney by a her’n, so nearas we be to the field of Boney’s vagaries! Begad, he’s as like toland here as anywhere. Gloucester Lodge could be surrounded, andGeorge and Charlotte carried off before he could put on his hat, orshe her red cloak and pattens!
THIRD SPECTATOR’Twould be so such joke to kidnap ’em as you think. Look at thefrigates down there. Every night they are drawn up in a lineacross the mouth of the Bay, almost touching each other; andashore a double line of sentinels, well primed with beer andammunition, one at the water’s edge and the other on theEsplanade, stretch along the whole front. Then close to theLodge a guard is mounted after eight o’clock; there be picketson all the hills; at the Harbour mouth is a battery of twentyfour-pounders; and over-right ’em a dozen six-pounders, andseveral howitzers. And next look at the size of the camp ofhorse and foot up here.
FIRST SPECTATOREverybody however was fairly gallied this week when the King wentout yachting, meaning to be back for the theatre; and the eight ornine o’clock came, and never a sign of him. I don’t know when ’adid land; but ’twas said by all that it was a foolhardy pleasureto take.
FOURTH SPECTATORHe’s a very obstinate and comical old gentleman; and by all account’a wouldn’t make port when asked to.
SECOND SPECTATORLard, Lard, if ’a were nabbed, it wouldn’t make a deal of difference!We should have nobody to zing, and play singlestick to, and grin atthrough horse-collars, that’s true. And nobody to sign our fewdocuments. But we should rub along some way, goodnow.
FIRST SPECTATORStep up on this barrow; you can see better. The troopers now passingare the York Hussars—foreigners to a man, except the officers—thesame regiment the two young Germans belonged to who were shot fouryears ago. Now come the Light Dragoons; what a time they take toget all past! Well, well! this day will be recorded in history.
SECOND SPECTATOROr another soon to follow it! [He gazes over the Channel.] There’snot a speck of an enemy upon that shiny water yet; but the Brestfleet is zaid to have put to sea, to act in concert with the armycrossing from Boulogne; and if so the French will soon be here; whenGod save us all! I’ve took to drinking neat, for, say I, one mayas well have innerds burnt out as shot out, and ’tis a good dealpleasanter for the man that owns ’em. They say that a cannon-ballknocked poor Jim Popple’s maw right up into the futtock-shrouds atthe Nile, where ’a hung like a nightcap out to dry. Much good tohim his obeying his old mother’s wish and refusing his allowanceo’ rum![The bands play and the Review continues till past eleven o’clock.Then follows a sham fight. At noon precisely the royal carriagesdraw off the ground into the highway that leads down to the townand Gloucester Lodge, followed by other equipages in such numbersthat the road is blocked. A multitude comes after on foot.Presently the vehicles manage to proceed to the watering-place, andthe troops march away to the various camps as a sea-mist cloaks theperspective.]
THE SAME. RAINBARROW’S BEACON, EGDON HEATH[Night in mid-August of the same summer. A lofty ridge ofheathland reveals itself dimly, terminating in an abrupt slope,at the summit of which are three tumuli. On the sheltered sideof the most prominent of these stands a hut of turves with abrick chimney. In front are two ricks of fuel, one of heatherand furze for quick ignition, the other of wood, for slow burning.Something in the feel of the darkness and in the personality ofthe spot imparts a sense of uninterrupted space around, the viewby day extending from the cliffs of the Isle of Wight eastwardto Blackdon Hill by Deadman’s Bay westward, and south across theValley of the Froom to the ridge that screens the Channel.Two men with pikes loom up, on duty as beacon-keepers beside thericks.]
OLD MANNow, Jems Purchess, once more mark my words. Black’on is the pointwe’ve to watch, and not Kingsbere; and I’ll tell ’ee for why. If hedo land anywhere hereabout ’twill be inside Deadman’s Bay, and thesignal will straightaway come from Black’on. But there thou’ststand, glowering and staring with all thy eyes at Kingsbere! I tell’ee what ’tis, Jem Purchess, your brain is softening; and you begetting too old for business of state like ours!
YOUNG MANYou’ve let your tongue wrack your few rames of good breeding, John.
OLD MANThe words of my Lord-Lieutenant was, whenever you see Kingsbere-HillBeacon fired to the eastward, or Black’on to the westward, light up;and keep your second fire burning for two hours. Was that ourdocuments or was it not?
YOUNG MANI don’t gainsay it. And so I keep my eye on Kingsbere because that’smost likely o’ the two, says I.
OLD MANThat shows the curious depths of your ignorance. However, I’ll havepatience, and say on. Didst ever larn geography?
YOUNG MANNo. Nor no other corrupt practices.
OLD MANTcht-tcht!—Well, I’ll have patience, and put it to him in anotherform. Dost know the world is round—eh? I warrant dostn’t!
YOUNG MANI warrant I do!
OLD MANHow d’ye make that out, when th’st never been to school?
YOUNG MANI larned it at church, thank God.
OLD MANChurch? What have God A’mighty got to do with profane knowledge?Beware that you baint blaspheming, Jems Purchess!
YOUNG MANI say I did, whether or no! ’Twas the zingers up in gallery thatI had it from. They busted out that strong with “the round worldand they that dwell therein,” that we common fokes down under coulddo no less than believe ’em.
OLD MANCanst be sharp enough in the wrong place as usual—I warrant canst!However, I’ll have patience with ’en and say on!—Suppose, now, myhat is the world; and there, as might be, stands the Camp of Belong,where Boney is. The world goes round, so, and Belong goes round too.Twelve hours pass; round goes the world still—so. Where’s Belongnow?[A pause. Two other figures, a man’s and a woman’s, rise againstthe sky out of the gloom.]
OLD MAN [shouldering his pike]Who goes there? Friend or foe, in the King’s name!
WOMANPiece o’ trumpery! “Who goes” yourself! What d’ye talk o’, JohnWhiting! Can’t your eyes earn their living any longer, then, thatyou don’t know your own neighbours? ’Tis Private Cantle of theLocals and his wife Keziar, down at Bloom’s-End—who else shouldit be!
OLD MAN [lowering his pike]A form o’ words, Mis’ess Cantle, no more; ordained by his Majesty’sGover’ment to be spoke by all we on sworn duty for the defence o’ thecountry. Strict rank-and-file rules is our only horn of salvation inthese times.—But, my dear woman, why ever have ye come lumpering upto Rainbarrows at this time o’ night?
WOMANWe’ve been troubled with bad dreams, owing to the firing out at seayesterday; and at last I could sleep no more, feeling sure thatsommat boded of His coming. And I said to Cantle, I’ll ray myself,and go up to Beacon, and ask if anything have been heard or seen to-night. And here we be.
OLD MANNot a sign or sound—all’s as still as a churchyard. And how isyour good man?
PRIVATE [advancing]Clk. I be all right! I was in the ranks, helping to keep the groundat the review by the King this week. We was a wonderful sight—wonderful! The King said so again and again.—Yes, there was he, andthere was I, though not daring to move a’ eyebrow in the presence ofMajesty. I have come home on a night’s leave—off there again to-morrow. Boney’s expected every day, the Lord be praised! Yes, ourhopes are to be fulfilled soon, as we say in the army.
OLD MANThere, there, Cantle; don’t ye speak quite so large, and standso over-upright. Your back is as holler as a fire-dog’s. Do yesuppose that we on active service here don’t know war news? Mindyou don’t go taking to your heels when the next alarm comes, as youdid at last year’s.
PRIVATEThat had nothing to do with fighting, for I’m as bold as a lion whenI’m up, and “Shoulder Fawlocks!” sounds as common as my own name tome. ’Twas—- [lowering his voice.] Have ye heard?
OLD MANTo be sure we have.
PRIVATEGhastly, isn’t it!
OLD MANGhastly! Frightful!
YOUNG MAN [to Private]He don’t know what it is! That’s his pride and puffery. What is itthat’ so ghastly—hey?
PRIVATEWell, there, I can’t tell it. ’Twas that that made the whole eightyof our company run away—though we be the bravest of the brave innatural jeopardies, or the little boys wouldn’t run after us andcall us and call us the “Bang-up-Locals.”
WOMAN [in undertones]I can tell you a word or two on’t. It is about His victuals. Theysay that He lives upon human flesh, and has rashers o’ baby everymorning for breakfast—for all the world like the Cernal Giant inold ancient times!
YOUNG MANYe can’t believe all ye hear.
PRIVATEI only believe half. And I only own—such is my challengefulcharacter—that perhaps He do eat pagan infants when He’s in thedesert. But not Christian ones at home. Oh no—’tis too much.
WOMANWhether or no, I sometimes—God forgive me!—laugh wi’ horror atthe queerness o’t, till I am that weak I can hardly go round thehouse. He should have the washing of ’em a few times; I warrant’a wouldn’t want to eat babies any more![A silence, during which they gaze around at the dark dome of thestarless sky.]
YOUNG MANThere’ll be a change in the weather soon, by the look o’t. I canhear the cows moo in Froom Valley as if I were close to ’em, andthe lantern at Max Turnpike is shining quite plain.
OLD MANWell, come in and taste a drop o’ sommat we’ve got here, that willwarm the cockles of your heart as ye wamble homealong. We housedeighty tuns last night for them that shan’t be named—landed atLullwind Cove the night afore, though they had a narrow shave withthe riding-officers this run.[They make toward the hut, when a light on the west horizon becomesvisible, and quickly enlarges.]
YOUNG MANHe’s come!
OLD MANCome he is, though you do say it! This, then, is the beginning ofwhat England’s waited for![They stand and watch the light awhile.]
YOUNG MANJust what you was praising the Lord for by-now, Private Cantle.
PRIVATEMy meaning was—-
WOMAN [simpering]Oh that I hadn’t married a fiery sojer, to make me bring fatherlesschildren into the world, all through his dreadful calling! Whydidn’t a man of no sprawl content me!
OLD MAN [shouldering his pike]We can’t heed your innocent pratings any longer, good neighbours,being in the King’s service, and a hot invasion on. Fall in, fallin, mate. Straight to the tinder-box. Quick march![The two men hasten to the hut, and are heard striking a flintand steel. Returning with a lit lantern they ignite a blaze.The private of the Locals and his wife hastily retreat by thelight of the flaming beacon, under which the purple rotunditiesof the heath show like bronze, and the pits like the eye-socketsof a skull.]
SPIRIT SINISTERThis is good, and spells blood. [To the Chorus of the Years.] Iassume that It means to let us carry out this invasion with pleasingslaughter, so as not to disappoint my hope?
SEMICHORUS I OF THE YEARS [aerial music]We carry out? Nay, but should weOrdain what bloodshed is to be it!
SEMICHORUS IIThe Immanent, that urgeth all,Rules what may or may not befall!
SEMICHORUS IEre systemed suns were globed and litThe slaughters of the race were writ,
SEMICHORUS IIAnd wasting wars, by land and sea,Fixed, like all else, immutably!
SPIRIT SINISTERWell; be it so. My argument is that War makes rattling goodhistory; but Peace is poor reading. So I back Bonaparte forthe reason that he will give pleasure to posterity.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESGross hypocrite!
CHORUS OF THE YEARSWe comprehend him not.[The day breaks over the heathery upland, on which the beaconis still burning. The morning reveals the white surface of ahighway which, coming from the royal watering-place beyond thehills, stretched towards the outskirts of the heath and passesaway eastward.]
DUMB SHOWMoving figures and vehicles dot the surface of the road, allprogressing in one direction, away from the coast. In theforeground the shapes appear as those of civilians, mostly onfoot, but many in gigs and tradesmen’s carts and on horseback.When they reach an intermediate hill some pause and look back;others enter on the next decline landwards without turningtheir heads.From the opposite horizon numerous companies of volunteers, in thelocal uniform of red with green facings,5are moving coastwards incompanies; as are also irregular bodies of pikemen without uniform;while on the upper slopes of the downs towards the shore regimentsof the line are visible, with cavalry and artillery; all passingover to the coast.At a signal from the Chief Intelligences two Phantoms of Rumour enteron the highway in the garb of country-men.
FIRST PHANTOM [to Pedestrians]Wither so fast, good neighbours, and before breakfast, too? Emptybellies be bad to vamp on.
FIRST PEDESTRIANHe’s landed west’ard, out by Abbot’s Beach. And if you have propertyyou’ll save it and yourselves, as we are doing!
SECOND PEDESTRIANAll yesterday the firing at BoulogneWas like the seven thunders heard in HeavenWhen the fierce angel spoke. So did he drawFull-manned, flat-bottomed for the shallowest shore,Dropped down to west, and crossed our frontage here.Seen from above they specked the water-shineAs will a flight of swallows toward dim eve,Descending on a smooth and loitering streamTo seek some eyot’s sedge.
SECOND PHANTOMWe are sent to enlighten you and ease your soul.Even now a courier canters to the portTo check the baseless scare.
FIRST PEDESTRIANThese be inland men who, I warrant ’ee, don’t know a lerret from alighter! Let’s take no heed of such, comrade; and hurry on!
FIRST PHANTOMWill you not hearThat what was seen behind the midnight mist,Their oar-blades tossing twinkles to the moon,Was but a fleet of fishing-craft belatedBy reason of the vastness of their haul?
FIRST PEDESTRIANHey? And d’ye know it?—Now I look back to the top o’ Rudgewaythe folk seem as come to a pause there.—Be this true, never againdo I stir my stumps for any alarm short of the Day of Judgment!Nine times has my rheumatical rest been broke in these last threeyears by hues and cries of Boney upon us. ’Od rot the feller;now he’s made a fool of me once more, till my inside is like awash-tub, what wi’ being so gallied, and running so leery!—Buthow if you be one of the enemy, sent to sow these tares, so tospeak it, these false tidings, and coax us into a fancied safety?Hey, neighbours? I don’t, after all, care for this story!
SECOND PEDESTRIANOnwards again!If Boney’s come, ’tis best to be away;And if he’s not, why, we’ve a holiday![Exeunt Pedestrians. The Spirits of Rumour vanish, while the sceneseems to become involved in the smoke from the beacon, and slowlydisappears.6]