Sybil, Or, The Two Nations, Earl of Beaconsfield Benjamin Disraeli [chrysanthemum read aloud TXT] 📗
Book online «Sybil, Or, The Two Nations, Earl of Beaconsfield Benjamin Disraeli [chrysanthemum read aloud TXT] 📗». Author Earl of Beaconsfield Benjamin Disraeli
The Liberator looked at his host with a glance of senseless intimidation, and then as if not condescending to communicate directly with ordinary men, he uttered in a more subdued tone to the Chartist these words, “Glass of ale.”
Ale was instantly ordered for the Liberator, who after a copious draught assumed a less menacing air, and smacking his lips, pushed aside the dishes, and sate down on the table swinging his legs.
“This is my friend of whom I spoke and whom you wished to see, Sir,” said the Chartist, “the most distinguished advocate of popular rights we possess, the editor of the Mowbray Phalanx, Mr Morley.”
Morley slightly advanced, he caught the Liberator’s eye, who scrutinized him with extreme earnestness, and then jumping from the table shouted; “Why this is the muff that called on me in Hell-house Yard three years ago.”
“I had that honour,” said Morley quietly.
“Honour be hanged,” said the Bishop, “you know something about somebody; I couldn’t squeeze you then, but by G— I will have it out of you now. Now, cut it short; have you seen him, and where does he live?”
“I came then to gain information, not to give it,” said Morley. “I had a friend who wished much to see this gentleman—”
“He ayn’t no gentleman,” said the Bishop; “he’s my brother: but I tell you what, I’ll do something for him now. I’m cock of the walk you see, and that’s a sort of thing that don’t come twice in a man’s life. One should feel for one’s flesh and blood, and if I find him out I’ll make his fortune, or my name is not Simon Hatton.”
The creator and counsellor of peers started in his chair and turned pale. A look was interchanged between him and Morley which revealed their mutual thoughts, and the great antiquary—looking at the Liberator with a glance of blended terror and disgust—walked away to the window.
“Suppose you put an advertisement in your paper,” continued the Bishop. “I know a traveller who lost his keys at the Yard and got them back again by those same means. Go on advertising till you find him, and my prime minister and principal doggy here shall give you an order on the town council for your expenses.”
Morley bowed his thanks in silence.
The Bishop continued—“What’s the name of the man who has got the big mill here, about three mile off, who won’t stop his works and ducked my men this morning with his engines. I’ll have fire I say for that water—do you hear that Master Newspaper—I’ll have fire for that water before I am many hours older.”
“The Liberator means Trafford,” said the Chartist.
“I’ll Trafford him,” said the Liberator and he struck the table with his hammer. “He ducks my messenger does he? I tell you I’ll have fire for that water,” and he looked around him as if he courted some remonstrance in order that he might crush it.
“Trafford is a humane man,” said Morley in a quiet tone, “and behaves well to his people.”
“A man with a big mill humane!” exclaimed the Bishop; “with two or three thousand slaves working under the same roof, and he doing nothing but eating their vitals. I’ll have no big mills where I’m main master. Let him look to it. Here goes,” and he jumped off the table. “Before an hour I’ll pay this same Trafford a visit and I’ll see whether he’ll duck me. Come on my prime Doggy,” and nodding to the Chartist to follow him, the Liberator left the room.
Hatton turned his head from the window, and advanced quickly to Morley. “To business, friend Morley. This savage can-not be quiet for a moment; he exists only in destruction and rapine. If it were not Trafford’s mill it would be something else. I am sorry for the Traffords; they have old blood in their veins. Before sunset their settlement will be razed to the ground. Can we prevent it? And why not attack the castle instead of the mill?”
Book 6 Chapter 10
About noon of this day there was a great stir in Mowbray. It was generally whispered about that the Liberator at the head of the Hell-cats and all others who chose to accompany them was going to pay a visit to Mr Trafford’s settlement, in order to avenge an insult which his envoys had experienced early in the morning when, accompanied by a rabble of two or three hundred persons, they had repaired to the Mowedale works in order to signify the commands of the Liberator that labour should stop, and if necessary to enforce those commands. The injunctions were disregarded, and when the mob in pursuance of their further instructions began to force the great gates of the premises, in order that they might enter the building, drive the plugs out of the steam-boilers, and free the slaves enclosed, a masqued battery of powerful engines was suddenly opened upon them, and the whole band of patriots were deluged. It was impossible to resist a power which seemed inexhaustible, and wet to the skins and amid the laughter of their adversaries they fled. This ridiculous catastrophe had terribly excited the ire of the Liberator. He vowed vengeance, and as, like all great revolutionary characters and military leaders, the only foundation of his power was constant employment for his troops and constant excitement for the populace, he determined to place himself at the head of the chastising force, and make a great example which should establish his awful reputation and spread the terror of his name throughout the district.
Field the Chartist had soon discovered who were the rising spirits of Mowbray, and Devilsdust and Dandy Mick were both sworn on Monday morning of the council of the Liberator, and took their seats at the board accordingly. Devilsdust, used to public business and to the fulfilment of responsible duties, was calm and grave, but equally ready and determined. Mick’s head on the contrary was quite turned by the importance of his novel position. He was greatly excited, could devise nothing and would do anything, always followed Devilsdust in council, but when he executed their joint decrees and showed himself about the town, he strutted like a peacock, swore at the men and winked at the girls, and was the idol and admiration of every gaping or huzzaing younker.
There was a large crowd assembled in the Market Place, in which were the Liberator’s lodgings, many of them armed in their rude fashion, and all anxious to march. Devilsdust was with the great man and Field; Mick below was marshalling the men, and swearing like a trooper at all who disobeyed or who misunderstood.
“Come stupid,” said he addressing Tummas, “what are you staring about? Get your men in order or I’ll be among you.”
“Stupid!” said Tummas, staring at Mick with immense astonishment. “And who are you who says ‘Stupid?’ A white-livered Handloom as I dare say, or a son of a gun of a factory slave. Stupid indeed! What next, when a Hell-cat is to be called stupid by such a thing as you?”
“I’ll give you a piece of advice young man,” said Master Nixon taking his pipe
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