It was, of course, as every naval expert could have demonstrated on the war-game board, an impossible thing to do. Steam, searchlights, wireless telegraphy, quick-firing guns, and a hundred other innovations had effaced the man; and the spirit of the Elizabethan age was at a discount. What Drake would have done, or Hawkins, what would have been a sweet and pleasing adventure to Sir Richard Grenville, or another Santa Cruz to Blake, would have been in their heirs unmitigated suicide by the verdict of any orthodox court martial. Largely imbued with the Elizabethan spirit—the genius of ensuring everything that was possible, and then throwing into the scale a splendid belief in much that seemed impossible—Stobalt succeeded in doing what perhaps no one else would have succeeded in doing, merely because perhaps no one else would have tried.
"Stobalt of Salaveira! Come down and lead us!" The wild enthusiasm, the strange unusual cries, went echoing to the sky and reverberating down every street and byway. Behind barred doors men listened to the shout, and wondered; crouching in alleys, tramping the road with no further hope in life, beggars and out-casts heard the name and dimly associated it with something pleasant in the past. It met the force of special constables hastening from the west; it fell on the ears of Mr Strummery, driving by unfrequented ways towards the House. "Stobalt and England! Stobalt for us! Stobalt and the Navy!" It was like another Salaveira night with Stobalt there among them—the man who was too modest to be fêted, the man whose very features were unknown at home, Stobalt of Salaveira!
Imagine it. Measure by the fading but not yet quite forgotten memory of another time of direful humiliation and despair what Salaveira must have been. They had passed a week of fervent exaltation, a week of calm assurance, a week of rather tremulous hope, and for the last quarter a long dumb misery that conveyed no other sense of time in later years than that of formless night. They were waiting for the stroke of doom. Then at midnight came the sudden tumult from afar, sounding to those who listened in painful silence strangely unlike the note of defeat, the frantic, mingled shouts, the tearing feet in the road beneath, the wild bells pealing out, the guns and rockets to add to the delirium of the night, and the incredible burden of the intoxicating news: "Great Victory! Salaveira Relieved!! Utter Annihilation of the Blockading Fleet!!!"
The Philosopher might withdraw to solitude and moralise; the Friend of Humanity stand aside, pained that his countrymen should possess so much human nature, but to the great primitive emotional heart of the community the choice lay between going out and shouting and staying in and going mad. Never before in history had there been a victory that so irresistibly carried the nation off its feet. To the populace it had seemed from beginning to end to contain just those qualities of daredevilry and fortuitous ease that appeal to the imagination. They were quite mistaken; the conception had been desperate, but beyond that the details of the relief of Salaveira had been as methodical, as painstaking, and as far-seeing as those which had marked the civil campaign now drawing to a close.
That was why a famished, starving mob remembered Salaveira. They would have stoned a duke or burned a bishop with very little compunction, but Stobalt ranked among their immortals. They did not even seem to question the mystery of Salt's identity. As the flames began to lap out of the lower windows of Trafalgar Chambers, and it became evident that their work there was done, a stalwart bodyguard ranged themselves about his person and headed the procession. Hurriedly committing Irene to the loyal sailor's charge, Stobalt resigned himself good-humouredly to his position until he could seize an opportunity discreetly to withdraw.
Not without some form of orderliness the great concourse marched into the broader streets. Stobalt had no idea of their destination; possibly there was no preconcerted plan, but—as such things happen—a single voice raised in a pause gave the note. It did not fall on barren ground, and the next minute the countless trampling feet moved to a brisker step, and the new cry went rolling ominously ahead to add another terror to the shadowy phantasmagoria of the ill-lit streets.
"To Westminster! Down with the Government! To Westminster!"
Sir John Hampden had not to wait until the morning to meet the deputation of Ministerialists again. Late the same evening a few men, arriving together, presented themselves at one of the barricades that closed the Mayfair street, and were at once admitted. Many of the residential west-end districts which were not thoroughfares for general traffic were stockaded in those days and maintained their street guard. The local officials protested, the inhabitants replied by instancing a few of the cases where an emergency had found the authorities powerless to extend protection, and there the matter ended. It was scarcely worth while stamping out a spark when they stood upon a volcano.
Sir John received the members in the library—a disspirited handful of men who had written their chapter of history and were now compelled to pass on the book to other scribes, as every party must. Only this party had thought that it was to be the exception.
"Events are moving faster than the clock," apologised Cecil Brown, with a rather dreary smile. He was present as the representative of that body in the House which was not indisposed to be courteous and even conciliatory in attitude towards an opponent, while it yielded nothing of its principles: a standpoint unintelligible to most of the rank and file of the party. "Doubtless we are not unexpected, Sir John Hampden?"
"Comrade," corrected a member who was made of sterner metal. They were there to deliver up their rifles, but this stalwart soldier of Equality clung tenaciously to an empty cartridge case.
"I am no less desirous than yourselves of coming to a settlement," replied Sir John. "If there is still any matter of detail——?"
The plenipotentiaries exchanged glances of some embarrassment.
"Have you not heard?" asked Mr Soans, whose voice was the voice of the dockyard labourers.
"I can scarcely say until I know what you refer to," was the plausible reply. "I have found that all communication has been cut during the last few hours." He lightly indicated the instruments against the wall.
They all looked towards Cecil Brown, the matter being rather an unpleasant one.
"The fact is, the House has been invaded by a tumultuous rabble. They overcame all resistance by the mere force of numbers, and"—he could not think of a less ominous phrase at the moment—"well, simply turned us out.... Quite Cromwellian proceedings. We left them passing very large and comprehensive resolutions," he concluded.
"Your people!" said the uncompromising man accusingly.
"Scarcely," protested Hampden with a smile. "The ends may be the ends of Esau, but the means——"
"Not our people; they couldn't possibly be ours to come and turn on us like that."
"Suppose we say, without defining them further," said Sir John, "that they were simply"—he paused for a second to burn the thrust gently home with a little caustic silence—"simply The People."
Mr Vossit made a gesture of impatience towards his colleague.
"Whether Queen Anne, died of gout or apoplexy isn't very material now," he said with a touch of bitterness. "We are here to conduct the funeral."
"I wish to meet you in every possible way I can," interposed Hampden, "but I must point out to you that at so short a notice I am deprived of the counsel of any of my associates. I had hoped that by the time of the meeting to-morrow morning——"
"Is that necessary if the Memorandum is accepted by the Government?"
"Without discussion?"
Mr Vossit shrugged his shoulders. "As far as I am concerned, Sir John. The concession of a word or two, or a phrase here and there, can make no difference. It is our Sedan, and the heavier you make the terms, the more there will be for us to remember it by."
"I am content," subscribed Mr Guppling. "We have been surprised and routed, not by the legitimate tactics of party strife, but by methods undistinguishable from those of civil war."
Hampden's glance was raised mechanically to an inscribed panel that hung upon the wall in easy view, where it formed a curious decoration. The ground colour was dull black, and on it in white lettering was set forth a trenchant sentiment selected from the public utterances of every prominent member of the Government and labelled with his name. It was a vindication and a spur that he had kept before his eyes through the years of ceaseless preparation, for in each extract one word was picked out in the startling contrast of an almost blinding crimson, and that one word was WAR. Even Sir John's enemies, those who called Salt a machine of blood and iron, admitted him to be a kindly gentleman, and his glance had been involuntary, for he had no desire to emphasise defeat upon the vanquished. The thing was done, however, and following the look every man who sat there met his own flamboyant challenge from the past; for all, without exception, had thrown down the gauntlet once in no uncertain form. War—but that had meant them waging war against another when it was quite convenient for them to do so, not another waging war against themselves out of season. War—but certainly not war that turned them out of office, only war that turned their opponents out of office.
The rather strained silence was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching from the hall.
"We are still short of the Home Secretary and Comrade Tirrel," explained Mr Chadwing to the master of the house. "We divided forces. They were driving I understand. Perhaps——"
It was. They came in slowly, for the Home Secretary faltered in his gait and had a hunted look, while Tirrel led him by the arm. Both carried traces of disorder, even of conflict.
"Oh yes; they held us up," said Tirrel with a savage laugh, as his colleagues gathered round. "He was recognised in Piccadilly by a crowd of those ungrateful dogs from the pits. I shouted to the cabman to drive through them at a gallop, but the cur jumped off his seat howling that he was their friend. I was just able to get the reins; we bumped a bit, but didn't upset, fortunately. I left the cab at the corner of the street, here." He turned his back on the Home Secretary, who sat huddled in a chair, and, facing the others, made a quick gesture indicating that Mr Tubes was unwell and had better be left alone.
"I brought him here, Sir John," he said, crossing over to the baronet and speaking in a half-whisper, "because I really did not know where else to take him. For some reason he appears to be almost execrated just now. His house in Kilburn will be marked and watched, I am afraid. And in that respect I daresay we are all in the same boat."
"He appears to be ill," said Hampden, rising. "I will——"
"Please don't," interrupted Tirrel decisively. "Any kind of attention distresses him, I find. It is a collapse. He has been shaken for some time past, and the attack to-night was the climax. His nerve is completely gone."
"As far as his safety is concerned," suggested the host with an expression of compassion, "I think that we can ensure that here against any irregular force. And certainly it would be the last place in which they would think of looking for him. For the night, at least, you had better leave him in our charge."
"Thank you," said Tirrel; "it is very good of you. I will. Of course," he added, as he turned away, "we shall have to assume his acquiescence to any arrangement we may reach. Unofficially I can guarantee it."
They seated themselves round the large table, Sir John and his private secretary occupying one end, the plenipotentiaries ranging around the other three sides. As they took their places Mr Drugget and another member were announced. They did not appear to have been expected, but they found seats among their colleagues. The Home Secretary sat apart, cowering in an easy-chair, and stretching out his hands timorously from time to time to meet the radiant heat of the great oil stove.
The composition of the meeting was not quite the same as that of the deputation which had paved the way to it earlier in the day. It was more official, for the action of the deputation had forced the hand of the Cabinet—to the relief of the majority of that body, it was whispered. But there was one notable Minister absent.
"I represent the Premier," announced Mr Drugget, rising. "If his attendance in person can be dispensed with, he begged to be excused."
"I offer no objection," replied Hampden. "If in the exceptional circumstances the Prime Minister should desire to see me privately, I will meet him elsewhere."
"The Premier is indisposed, I regret to say."
"In that case I would wait upon him at his own house, should he desire it," proffered Sir John.
"I will convey to him your offer," replied Mr Drugget. "In the meantime I am authorised to subscribe Mr Strummery's acquiescence to the terms, subject to one modification."
"One word first, please," interposed Sir John. "I must repeat what I had already said before you arrived. I am unable just now to consult my colleagues, in concert with whom the Memorandum was drafted. If it is necessary to refer back on any important detail——"
Mr Tubes half rose from his chair with a pitiable look of terror in his eyes and gave a low cry as a turbulent murmur from some distant street reached his ears.
"It's all right, comrade," said Cecil Brown reassuringly. "You're safe enough here, Jim."
"Aye, aye," whispered Tubes fearfully; "but did you hear that shout?—'To the lamp-post!' They fling it at me from every crowd. It haunts me. That is what I—I—yes, that is what I fear."
"No good arguing," muttered Tirrel across the table. "Leave him to himself; there's nothing else to be done just now."
"I can at least express the Premier's views" resumed Mr Drugget. "He would prefer the Bill for Amending the Franchise to be brought forward as a private Bill by a member of the Opposition rather than make it a Government measure. The Government would grant special facilities, and not oppose it. The Premier would advise a dissolution immediately the Bill passed."
There was a knock at the library door. The secretary attended to it with easy discretion, and for a minute was engaged in conversation with some one beyond.
Sir John looked at Mr Drugget in some amazement, and most of the members of his own party regarded their leader's proxy with blank surprise.
"I was hardly prepared for so fundamental an objection being raised at this hour," said the baronet. "It amounts, of course, to bringing an alternative proposal forward."
"The result would be the same; I submit that it is scarcely more than a matter of detail."
"Then why press it?"
Mr Drugget's expression seemed to convey the suggestion that he had no personal wishes at all in the matter, but felt obliged to make the best case he could for his chief.
"The Premier not unnaturally desires that the real authors of so retrogressive and tyrannical an Act should be saddled with the nominal as well as the actual responsibility," he replied. "Possibly he fears that in some remote future the circumstances will be forgotten, and his name be handed down as that of a traitor."
The private secretary took the opportunity of the sympathetic murmur which this attitude evoked to exchange a sentence with Sir John. Then he turned to the door and beckoned to the man who stood outside.
"I must ask your indulgence towards a short interruption, gentlemen," said Hampden, as a cyclist, in grey uniform, entered and handed him a despatch. "It is possible that some of my friends may even now be on their way to join me."
They all regarded the messenger with a momentary curious interest; all except two among them. Over Mr Drugget and the comrade who had arrived with him the incident seemed to exercise an absorbing fascination. After a single, it almost seemed a startled, glance at the soldier-cyclist, their eyes met in a mutual impulse, and then instantly turned again to fix on Hampden's face half-stealthily, but as tensely as though they would tear the secret from behind his unemotional expression.
"It's all very well, Drugget—in justice," anxiously murmured Mr Vossit across the table, "but, as things are, we've got to be quick, and accept considerably less than justice. For Heaven's sake, don't prolong the agony, after to-day's experience."
"If you hang on to that," warned Mr Guppling, "you will only end in putting off till to-morrow not a whit better terms than you can make to-night."
"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," muttered Mr Drugget impatiently, not withdrawing his fascinated gaze.
In the silence of the room they again heard the crescive ululation of the street, distant still, but sounding louder than before to their strained imagination, and terrible in its suggestion of overwhelming, unappeasable menace. Mr Tubes started uneasily in his chair.
"Willthatwait?" demanded Mr Guppling with some passion.
"A very little time longer; your coming here to-night has thrown us out," pleaded Mr Drugget's companion, in a more conciliatory whisper. "To-morrow morning, a few hours, an hour—perhaps even——"
The messenger had been dismissed without an answer. Looking up with sudden directness, Hampden caught one man's eyes fixed on him with a furtive intensity that betrayed his hopes and fears.
"The attack on Hanwood has completely failed," quietly announced Sir John, holding the startled gaze relentlessly. "The guns have been captured and brought in. The troops have been surrounded, disarmed, and dispersed, with the exception of those of the higher rank who are detained. There have, unfortunately, been casualties on both sides."
"I—I—I—Why do you address yourself to me, Sir John?" stammered the disconcerted man, turning very white, and exhibiting every painful sign of guilt and apprehension.
"Are we to understand that your property at Hanwood has been attacked by an armed force of regulars?" asked one with sincere incredulity, as Hampden remained silent.
"It is unhappily true."
"And defended by an evidently superior force of armed men, unlawfully assembled there," retorted a militant comrade defiantly.
"In view of the strained position to which the circumstances must give rise, I will take the responsibility of withdrawing the Premier's one objection to the Memorandum as it stands," announced Mr Drugget with dry lips.
"In that case I will ask Mr Lloyd to read the terms of the agreement formally before we append our signatures," said Hampden, without offering any further comment.
A printed copy of the Articles was passed to each delegate; on the table before Sir John lay the engrossed form in duplicate. From one of these the secretary proceeded to read the terms of the agreement, which was frankly recognised on both sides as the death-warrant of socialistic ascendency in England.
From the Government the League required only one thing: the immediate passing of "A Bill to amend the Qualifications of Voters in Parliamentary Elections," to be followed by a dissolution and its inevitable consequence, a general election. But of the result of that election no one need cherish any illusions, for it would be decided according to the new qualification; and shorn of its parliamentary phraseology, the new Act was to sweep away the existing adult suffrage, and, broadly, substitute for it a £10 occupation qualification, with, still worse, a plurality of voting power in multiples of £10, according to the rateable value of the premises occupied. It was wholly immoral according to the democratic tendency of the preceding age, but it was wholly necessary according to the situation which had resulted from it.
A genial Autocrat, Professor, and Poet has set forth in one of his works, for the sake of the warning it conveys, the story of a little boy who, on coming into the possession of a nice silver watch, and examining it closely, discovered among the works "a confounded littlehairentangled round the balance-wheel." Of course his first care was to remove this palpable obstruction, with the result that the watch accomplished the work of twenty-four hours in an insignificant fraction of a second, and then refused to have anything more to do with practical chronometry. On coming into possession of their new toy the Socialists had discovered many "confounded littlehairs" wrapped away among the works of that elaborate piece of machinery, the English Constitution, all obviously impeding its free working. Recklessly, even gaily, they had pulled them out one after another, cut them across the middle and left pieces hanging if they could not find the ends, dragged out lengths anyhow. For a time the effect had been dazzlingly pyro-technical when seen from below. The Constitution had gone very, very, very fast; it had covered centuries in a few years; and as it went it got faster. But unfortunately it had stopped suddenly. And every one saw that while it remained in the hands of its nominal masters it would never go again.
Had the times been less critical some other means of effecting the same end might have been found. But although it was scarcely more than whispered yet, for four hours England had been involved in actual, deadly, civil war; and water once spilled is hard to gather up. Under ordinary circumstances the expedient of disenfranchising a party would have proved unpopular even with the bitterest among that party's enemies. As it was, it was simply accepted as the necessary counterstroke to their own policy of aggression.
"If the 'most business-like Government of modern times' can instance a single business where eleven shareholders to the amount of a sovereign apiece can come in and outvote ten shareholders who have each a stake of a thousand pounds in the concern, and then proceed to wreck it," was a remark typical of the view people took, "then—why, then the record of the Government will lose its distinction as an absolutely unique blend of fatuous imbecility and ramping injustice, that's all."
So there was to be a general election very soon in which the issue would lie between the League party and the shattered, shipwrecked Administration that had no leaders, no coherence, and scarcely a name to rally to. It was estimated that Labour of one complexion or another might hold between thirty and forty seats, if the working classes cared to support representatives after the Payment of Members Act had been repealed. It was computed that in more than four hundred constituencies League candidates would be returned unopposed. There could be no denying that our countrymen of 1918 (circa) lived through an interesting period of their country's history. The League party would go to the poll with no pledges, and their policy for the present was summed up in the single phrase, "As in 1905." It was to be the cleanest of slates.
"How soon can the Bill become law under the most expeditious handling?" Hampden had asked of those who formed the earlier deputation, and the answer had been, "Three days!" Solely from the "business" point of view it was magnificent, and it was certainly convenient as matters stood. In three more days a general election could be in full swing, waged, in the emergency, on the existing register supplemented by the books of the local authorities and the voters' receipts for rates or taxes. In a single day it could be over. Within a week England would have experienced a change in her affairs as far-reaching as the Conquest or the Restoration.
Mr Lloyd, to return to Sir John Hampden's library, read the first article to the breathless assembly. It had been tacitly agreed that the time had come when the conditions must be accepted without discussion; but when the fateful clause was finished a deep groan, not in empty hostile demonstration, but irresistibly torn from the unfeigned depths of their emotion, escaped many of the Ministers. Boabdil el Chico's sigh, when he reached the point where the towers and minarets of Granada were lost to him for ever, was not more sincere or heart-racked. Even Sir John could not have claimed that he felt unmoved.
The secretary read on. The League entered into certain undertakings. It guaranteed that the normal conditions of the home coal trade should be restored, and the men called back to the pits by an immediate order for ten million tons. Temporary relief work of various kinds would be instituted at once to meet the distress. The Unemployed Grant would be reopened for nine weeks to carry over the winter; for three weeks fully, for three weeks at the rate of two-thirds, and for the last period reduced to one-third. The colliers in London would be carried back to their own districts as fast as the railways could get out the trains.
There were many other points of detail, and they all had a common aim—the obliteration of the immediate past and the restoration of that public confidence which in a country possessing natural resources is the foundation stone of national prosperity. Already there were facts for the present and portents for the future. Men of influence and position, who had been driven out of England by the terrible atmosphere of political squalor cast over an Empire by a Government that had learned to think municipally, were even now beginning to return; and that most responsive seismograph which faithfully reflected every change in the world's condition for good or ill predicted better times. In other words, consols had risen in three months from 54-1/2 to 68 and the bulk of the buying was said to be for investment.
"If it is not trenching on the forbidden ground, I should like to ask for an assurance on one point," said a member with a dash of acrimony. The secretary had finished his task, and then for perhaps ten seconds they had sat in silence, speculating half unconsciously upon the future, as each dimly saw it, that lay beyond the momentous step they were about to take. "I refer to the question of coal export. It is, of course, a more important outlet than the domestic home consumption. Is the League in a position to guarantee that the taxation will be rescinded without delay?"
"I think it would be a very unwarrantable presumption for us to assume that any one outside the governments of the countries interested possesses that influence, and that it would be a very undesirable, a very undiplomatic, proceeding to hint at the possibility of any such concession in the document I have before me," replied Sir John suavely. "Beyond that, I would add that it will be manifestly to the interest of the next government to restore the bulk of foreign trade to a normal level; and that should the League party find itself in office, it will certainly make representations through the usual channels."
"Quite like old times," said Mr Soans dryly. "I suppose that we shall have to be content with that. Let us hope that it will prove a true saying that those who hide can find."
He picked up a pen as he finished speaking, signed the paper that had been passed to him first by reason of his position at the table, and thrust it vehemently from him to his neighbour. Mr Chadwing held up his pen to the light to make sure that it contained no obstruction on so important an occasion, signed his name with clerkly precision, and then carefully wiped his pen on the lining of his coat. Cecil Brown looked down with the faint smile that covered his saddest moments as he added the slender strokes of his signature, and Tirrel dashed off the ink-laden characters of his with tightened lips and a sombre frown. Consciously or unconsciously every man betrayed some touch of character in that act. Mr Vossit made a wry grimace as he passed the paper on; and Mr Guppling, with an eye on a possible line in Fame's calendar, snapped his traitorous pen in two and cast the pieces dramatically to the ground.
When the last signature had been written, some of the members stood up to take their leave at once, but Hampden and Tirrel made a simultaneous motion to detain them. The master of the house gave way to his guest.
"I am not up to cry over spilled milk," said Tirrel with his customary bluntness. "What is done, is done. We shall carry out the terms, Sir John Hampden, and you and your party will be in office in a week. But you are not merely taking over the administration of a constitution: you are taking over a defeated country. I ask you, as the head of your party and the future Premier, to do one thing, and I ask it entirely on my own initiative, and without the suggestion or even the knowledge of my friends or colleagues. Let your first act be to publish a general amnesty. It does not touch me.... But there have been things on both sides. You may perhaps know my views; I would have crushed your League by strong means when it was possible if I had had my way. None the less, there is not the most shadowy charge that could hang over me to-day, and for that reason it is permissible for me to put in this petition. The nation is shattered, torn, helpless. Do not look too closely into the past ... pacify."
"The question has not arisen between my associates and myself, but I do not imagine that we should hold conflicting views, and I may say that for my part I enter cordially into the spirit of the suggestion," replied Hampden frankly. "Anything irregular that could come within the meaning of political action in its widest sense I should be favourable towards making the object of a general pardon.... While we are together, I will go a step further, and on this point I have the expressed agreement of my friends. You, sir, have assumed without any reserve that our party will be returned to office. I accept that assumption. You have also compared our work to the pacification of a conquered nation. That also may be largely admitted. We shall be less a political party returned to power by the even chances of a keenly-fought election, and checked by an alert opposition, than a social autocracy imposing our wishes—as we believe for the public good—on the country. For twenty years, as I forecast the future, there will be no effective opposition. Yet a great deal of our work will have reference to the class whom the opposition would represent, the class upon whose wise and statesmanlike pacification the tranquillity, and largely the prosperity, of the country, will depend."
Some few began to catch the drift of Hampden's meaning, and those who did all glanced instinctively towards Cecil Brown.
"You have used, and I have accepted, the comparison of a conquered nation," continued Sir John. "When a country has been forcibly occupied the work of pacification is one of the first taken in hand by a prudent conqueror. There is usually a Board or Committee of Conciliation, and in that body are to be found some of the foremost of those who resisted invasion while resistance seemed availing.... It would be analogous to that, in my opinion, if a supporter of the present Government was offered and accepted a position in the next. There would be no suggestion—there would be no possibility—of his being in accord with the Cabinet in its general policy. He would be there as an expert to render service to both parties in the work of healing the scars of conflict. If the proposal appears to be exceptional and the position untenable at first sight, it is only because the prosaic parliamentary machinery of normal times has by a miracle been preserved into times that are abnormal."
There was an infection of low laughter, amused, sardonic, some good-natured and a little ill-natured, and a few cries of "Cecil Brown!" in a subdued key.
"The moment seemed a favourable one for laying the proposal before the members of the Government," went on Hampden, unmoved, "though, of course, I do not expect an answer now. On the assumption that we are returned to power, it is our intention to create a new department to exist as long as the conditions require it, and certainly as long as the next Parliament. Its work will be largely conciliation, and it will deal with the disorganisation of labour. In the same confidential spirit with which you have spoken of the future without reserve, I may say that should I be called upon to form a Ministry, I shall—and I have the definite acquiescence of my colleagues—offer the Presidentship of the Board to Mr Cecil Brown ... the office of Parliamentary Secretary to Mr Tirrel."
If Hampden had wished to surprise, he certainly succeeded. The open laugh that greeted the first name was cut off as suddenly and completely as the light is cut off when the gas-tap is turned, by the gasp that the second name evoked. To many among them the offer had been the merest party move; Cecil Brown's name a foregone conclusion. The addition of Tirrel, whose rather brilliant qualities and quite fantastic sense of honour they were prone to lose sight of behind his vehement battle-front, was stupefying.
It was Tirrel who was the first to break the silence of astonishment on this occasion, not even waiting, with characteristic impetuousness, for his chief-designate to offer an opinion.
"You say that you do not want an answer now, Sir John, but you may have it, as far as I am concerned," he cried, with the defiant air that marked his controversial passages. "From any other man of your party the proposal would have been an insult; from you it is an amiable mistake.Youdo not think that you can buy us with the bribe of office, but you think that there is no further party work for us to do: that Socialism in England to-day is dead. I tell you, Sir John Hampden, with the absolute conviction of an inspired truth, that it will triumph yet. You will not see it; I may not see it, but it is more likely that the hand of Time itself should fail than that the ideals to which we cling should cease to draw men on. We, who are the earliest pioneers of that untrodden path, have made many mistakes; we are paying for them now; but we have learned. Some of our mistakes have brought want and suffering to thousands of your class, but for hundreds of years your mistakes have been bringing starvation and misery to millions of our class. From your presence we go down again into the weary years of bondage, to work silently and unmarked among those depths of human misery from which our charter springs. I warn you, Sir John Hampden—for I know that the warning will be dead and forgotten before the year is out—that our reign will come again; and when the star of a new and purified Socialism arises once more on a prepared and receptive world the very forces of nature would not be strong enough to arrest its triumphant course."
"Hear! hear!" said Mr Vossit perfunctorily, as he looked round solicitously for his hat. "Well, I suppose we may as well be going."
Cecil Brown recalled his wistful smile from the contemplation of a future chequered with many scenes of light and shade.
"I thank you, Sir John," he replied with a look of friendly understanding, "but I also must go down with my own party."
"I hope that the decision in neither case will be irrevocable," said Hampden with regret, but as he spoke he knew that the hope was vain.
They had already begun to file out of the room, with a touch here and there of that air of constraint that the party had never been quite able to shake off on ceremonial occasions. They left Mr Tubes cowering before the stove, and raising his head nervously from time to time to listen to the noises of the street.
Mr Guppling, determined that his claims should not escape the eye of Fame, paused at the door.
"When we leave this room, John Hampden," he proclaimed in a loud and impressive voice, and throwing out his hand with an appropriate gesture, "we leave Liberty behind us, bound, gagged, and helpless, on the floor!"
"Very true, Mr Guppling," replied Sir John good-humouredly. "We will devote our first efforts to releasing her."
Mr Guppling smiled a bitter, cutting smile, and left the shaft to rankle. It was not until he was out in the street that a sense of the possible ambiguity of his unfortunate remark overwhelmed him with disgust.
With the account of the signing of the dissolution terms, and a brief reference to the sweeping victory of the League party—already foreshadowed, indeed, to the point of the inevitable—the unknown chronicler, whose version of the Social War this narrative has followed, brings his annals to a close. That war being finished, and by the repudiation of their Socialistic mentors on the part of a large section of the working classes, finished by more than a mere paper treaty, the worthy scribe announces with praiseworthy restraint that there is no more to be said.
"These men," he declares, in the quaint and archaic language of the past,—and he might surely have added "these women" also—"came not reluctantly, but in no wise ambitiously, out of the business of their own private lives to serve their country as they deemed; and that being accomplished to a successful end, would have returned, nothing loth, to more obscure affairs, having sought no personal gain beyond that which grew from public security, an equitable burden of citizenship, and a recovered pride among the nations. Albeit some must needs remain to carry on the work."
Even the not unimportant detail of who remained to carry on the work, and in what capacities, is not recorded, but the distribution of rewards and penalties, on the lines of strict poetic justice, may be safely left to the individual reader's sympathies, with the definite assurance that everything happened exactly as he would have it. At the length of three times as much space as would have sufficed to dispose of these points once and for all, this superexact historian goes on to set out his reasons for not doing so. He claims, in short, that his object was to portray the course of the social war, not to recount the adventures of mere individuals; and with the suggestion of a wink between his pen and paper that may raise a doubt whether he, on his side, might not be endowed with the power of casting a critical eye upon other periods than his own, he indulges in a little pleasantry at the expense of writers who, under the pretext of developing their hero's character, begin with his parent's childhood, and continue to the time of his grandchildren's youth. For himself, he asserts that nothing apart from the course of the social war, its rise and progress, has been allowed to intrude, and that ended, and their work accomplished, its champions are rather heroically treated, very much as the Arabian magician's army was disposed of until it was required again, and to all intents and purposes turned into stone just where they stood.
But from other sources it is possible to glean a little here and there of the course of subsequent events. To this patchwork record theMinneapolis Journalcontributes a cartoon laden with the American satirist's invariable wealth of detail.
A very emaciated John Bull, stretched on his bed, is just struggling back to consciousness and life. On a table by his side stands a bottle labelled "Hampden's U. L. Mixture," to which he owes recovery. On the walls one sees various maps which depict a remarkably Little England indeed. Some sagacious economist, in search of a strip of canvas with which to hold together a broken model of a black man, has torn off the greater part of South Africa for the purpose. Over India a spider has been left to spin a web so that scarcely any of the Empire is now to be seen. Upper Egypt is lost behind a squab of ink which an irresponsible urchin has mischievously taken the opportunity to fling. Every colony and possession shows signs of some ill-usage.
"Say, John," "Uncle Sam," who has looked in, is represented as saying, "you've had a bad touch of the 'sleeping sickness.' You'd better take things easy for a spell to recuperate. I'll keep an eye on your house while you go to the seashore."
That was to be England's proud destiny for the next few years—to take things easy and recuperate! There is nothing else for the pale and shaken convalescent to do; but the man who has delighted in his strength feels his heart and soul rebel against the necessity. Fortunate for England that she had good friends in that direful hour. The United States, sinking those small rivalries over which cousins may strive even noisily at times in amiable contention, stretched a hand across the waters and astonished Europe by the message, "Who strikes England wantonly, strikes me": a sentiment driven home by the diplomatic hint that for the time being the Monroe Doctrine was suspended west of Suez.
France—France who had been so chivalrously true to her own ally in that stricken giant's day of incredible humiliation—looked across The Sleeve with troubled, anxious eyes, and whispered words of sympathy and hope. Gently, very tactfully, she offered friendship with both hands, without a tinge of the patronage or protection that she could extend; and by the living example of her own tempestuous past and gallant recovery from every blow, pointed the way to power and self-respect.
Japan, whose treaty had been thrown unceremoniously back to her many years before, now drew near again with the cheerful smile that is so mild in peace, so terrible in war. Prefacing that her own enviable position was entirely due to the enlightened virtues of her emperor, she now proposed another compact on broad and generous lines, by which England—a "high contracting Power," as she was still magnanimously described—was spared the most fruitful cause for anxiety in the East.
"You didn't mind allying with us when you were at the head of the nations," said Japan. "We come to you—now. Besides, all very good business for us in the end. You build up again all right, no time."
Japan's authority to speak on the subject of "building up" was not to be disputed. The nations had forgotten the time, scarcely a quarter of a century before, when they had been amused by "Little Japan's" progressive ambitions. And when Japan had taken over the "awakening" arrangements of a sister-nation on terms that gave her fifty million potential warriors to draw upon and train (warriors whom one of England's most revered generals had characterised as "Easily led; easily fed; fearless of death"), non-amusement in some quarters gave way to positive trepidation.
The sympathetic nations spoke together, and agreed that something must be done to give "Poor England" another chance; as, in the world of commerce, friendly rivals will often gather round the man who has fallen on evil days to set him on his feet again.
So England was to have a fair field and liberty to work out her own salvation. But she was not to wake up and find that it had all been a hideous dream. Egypt had been put back to the time of the Khalifa. India had lost sixty years of pacification and progress. Ireland was a republic, at least in name, and depending largely on Commemoration Issues of postage stamps for a revenue. South Africa was for the South Africans. There were many other interesting items, but these were, as it might be expressed to a nation of shopkeepers, the leading lines.
If the worst abroad was bad enough, there was one encouraging feature at home. With the election of the new government industries began to revive, trade to improve, the money market to throw off its depression, and the natural demand for labour to increase: not gradually, but instantly, phenomenally. It was as though a dam across some great river had been removed, and with the impetus every sluggish little tributary was quickened and drawn on in new and sparkling animation. It was not necessary to argue upon it from a party point of view; it was a concrete fact that every one admitted. There was only one explanation, and it met the eye at every turn. Capital reappeared, and money began to circulate freely again. Why? There was security.
It was not the Millennium; it was the year 19—, and a "capitalistic" government was in office; but the "masses" discovered that they were certainly not worse off than before. Working men now wore, it is true, a little less of the air of being so many presidents of South American republics when they walked about the streets; but that style had never really suited them, and they soon got out of it. The men who had come into power were not of the class who oppress. The strife of the past was being forgotten; its lessons were remembered. What was good and practical of Socialistic legislation was retained. So it came about that the vanquished gained more by defeat than they would have done by victory.
It was undeniable that, in common with mankind at large, they still from time to time experienced pain, sickness, disappointment, hardship, and general adversity. Those who were employed by gentlemen were treated as gentlemen treat their work-people; those who were so unfortunate as to be in the service of employers who had no claim to that title continued to be treated as cads and despots treat their employés. Those among them who were gentlemen themselves extended a courteous spirit towards their masters, and those among them who were the reverse continued to act towards employers and the world around as churls and blusterers act, and so the compensating balance of nature was more or less harmoniously preserved.
And what of the future? Will the nation that was so sharply taught dread the fire like the burned child, or return to the flame as the scorched moth does? Alas, the memory of a people is short, even as the wisdom of a proverb is conflictingly two-edged.
Or, if the warning fades and the necessity grows large again, will there be found another Stobalt to respond to the call? "For those whom Heaven afflicts there is a chance," contributes the Sage of another land; "but they who persistently work out their own undoing are indeed hopeless."
Or may it be that the faith of Tirrel will be justified, and that in the process of time there will emerge from man's ceaseless groping after perfection a new wisdom, under whose yet undreamt-of scheme and dispensation all men will be content and reconciled?
The philosopher shakes his head weightily and remains silent—thereby adding to his reputation. The prophets prophesy; the old men dream dreams and the young men see visions, and the dispassionate speculate. On all sides there is a multitude of the counsel in which, as we must believe, lies wisdom.
It is an interesting situation, and as it can only be definitely settled beyond the dim vista of future centuries, the pity is that we shall never know.