Sybil, Or, The Two Nations, Earl of Beaconsfield Benjamin Disraeli [chrysanthemum read aloud TXT] 📗

my word there is not a machine or man that stirs here at this moment (great cheering). I believe you’ll take my word (cheers, and cries of “We will”). I believe I’m known at Mowbray (“Gerard for ever!”), and on Mowbray Moor too (tumultous cheering). We have met together before this (“That we have”), and shall meet again yet (great cheering). The people haven’t so many friends that they should quarrel with well-wishers. The master here has done his best to soften your lots. He is not one of those who deny that Labour has rights (loud cheers). I say that Mr Trafford has always acknowledged the rights of Labour (prolonged cheers and cries of “So he has”). Well, is he the man that we should injure? (“No, no”). What if he did give a cold reception to some visitors this morning—(groans)—perhaps they wore faces he was not used to (loud cheers and laughter from the Mowbray people). I dare say they mean as well as we do—no doubt of that—but still a neighbour’s a neighbour (immense cheering). Now, my lads, three cheers for the National Holiday,” and Gerard gave the time, and his voice was echoed by the thousands present. “The master here has no wish to interfere with the National Holiday; all he wants to secure is that all mills and works should alike stop (cries of “Very just”). And I say so too,” continued Gerard. “It is just; just and manly and like a true-born Englishman as he is, who loves the people and whose fathers before him loved the people (great cheering). Three cheers for Mr Trafford I say;” and they were given; “and three cheers for Mrs Trafford too, the friend of the poor!” Here the mob became not only enthusiastic but maudlin; all vowing to each other that Trafford was a true-born Englishman and his wife a very angel upon earth. This popular feeling is so contagious that even the Hell-cats shared it—cheering, shaking hands with each other, and almost shedding tears—though it must be confessed that they had some vague idea that it was all to end in something to drink.

Their great leader however remained unmoved, and nothing but his brutal stupidity could have prevented him from endeavouring to arrest the tide of public feeling, but he was quite bewildered by the diversion, and for the first time failed in finding a prompter in Field. The Chartist was cowed by Gerard; his old companion in scenes that the memory lingered over, and whose superior genius had often controlled and often led him. Gerard too had recognized him and had made some personal allusion and appeal to him, which alike touched his conscience and flattered his vanity. The ranks were broken, the spirit of the expedition had dissolved, the great body were talking of returning, some of the stragglers indeed were on their way back, the Bishop silent and confused kept knocking the mane of his mule with his hammer.

“Now,” said Morley who during this scene had stood apart accompanied by Devilsdust and Dandy Mick. “Now,” said Morley to the latter, “now is your time.”

“Gentlemen!” sang out Mick.

“A speech, a speech!” cried out several.

“Listen to Mick Radley,” whispered Devilsdust moving swiftly among the mob and addressing every one he met of influence. “Listen to Mick Radley, he has something important.”

“Radley for ever! Listen to Mick Radley! Go it Dandy! Pitch it into them! Silence for Dandy Mick! Jump up on that ere bank,” and on the bank Mick mounted accordingly.

“Gentlemen,” said Mick.

“Well you have said that before.”

“I like to hear him say ‘Gentlemen;’ it’s respectful.”

“Gentlemen,” said the Dandy, “the National Holiday has begun—”

“Three cheers for it!”

“Silence; hear the Dandy!”

“The National Holiday has begun,” continued Mick, “and it seems to me the best thing for the people to do is to take a walk in Lord de Mowbray’s park.”

This proposition was received with one of those wild shouts of approbation which indicate the orator has exactly hit his audience between wind and water. The fact is the public mind at this instant wanted to be led, and in Dandy Mick a leader appeared. A leader to be successful should embody in his system the necessities of his followers; express what every one feels, but no one has had the ability or the courage to pronounce.

The courage and adroitness, the influence of Gerard, had reconciled the people to the relinquishment of the great end for which they had congregated; but neither man nor multitude like to make preparations without obtaining a result. Every one wanted to achieve some object by the movement; and at this critical juncture an object was proposed, and one which promised novelty, amusement, excitement. The Bishop whose consent must be obtained, but who relinquished an idea with the same difficulty with which he had imbibed it, alone murmured, and kept saying to Field, “I thought we came to burn down the mill! A bloody-minded Capitalist, a man that makes gardens and forces the people to wash themselves: What is all this?”

Field said what he could, while Devilsdust leaning over the mule’s shoulder, cajoled the other ear of the Bishop, who at last gave his consent with almost as much reluctance as George the Fourth did to the emancipation of the Roman Catholics; but he made his terms, and said in a sulky voice he must have a glass of ale.

“Drink a glass of ale with Lord de Mowbray,” said Devilsdust.