Sybil - Benjamin Disraeli (books to read as a couple TXT) 📗

which can alone emancipate a race, wishes to confer with you on the state of this town and neighbourhood. It has been represented to him that no one is more knowing and experienced than yourself in this respect; besides as the head of our most influential organ in the press, it is in every way expedient that you should see him. He is at this moment below giving instructions and receiving reports of the stoppage of all the country works, but if you like I will bring him up here, we shall be less disturbed.”

“By all means,” said Hatton who seemed to apprehend that Morley would make some difficulties. “By all means.”

“Stop;” said Morley, “have you seen Gerard?”

“No,” said Field. “I wrote to him some time back, but his reply was not encouraging. I thought his spirit was perhaps broken.”

“You know that he is here?”

“I concluded so, but we have not seen him; though to be sure, we have seen so many, and done so much since our arrival yesterday, it is not wonderful. By the by, who is this blackcoat you have here, this St. Lys? We took possession of the church yesterday on our arrival, for it’s a sort of thing that pleases the miners and colliers wonderfully, and I always humour them. This St. Lys preached us such a sermon that I was almost afraid at one time the game would be spoiled. Our great man was alarmingly taken by it, was saying his prayers all day and had nearly marched back again: had it not been for the excellence of the rum and water at our quarters, the champion of the Charter would have proved a pious recreant.”

“St. Lys will trouble you,” said Morley. “Alas! for poor human nature, when violence can only be arrested by superstition.”

“Come don’t you preach,” said the Chartist. “The Charter is a thing the people can understand, especially when they are masters of the country; but as for moral force, I should like to know how I could have marched from Wodgate to Mowbray with that on my banner.”

“Wodgate,” said Morley, “that’s a queer place.”

“Wodgate,” said Hatton, “what Wodgate is that?”

At this moment a great noise sounded without the room, the door was banged, there seemed a scuttling, some harsh high tones, the deprecatory voices of many waiters. The door was banged again and this time flew open, while exclaiming in an insolent coarse voice, “Don’t tell me of your private rooms; who is master here I should like to know?” there entered a very thickset man, rather under the middle size, with a brutal and grimy countenance, wearing the unbuttoned coat of a police serjeant conquered in fight, a cocked hat, with a white plume, which was also a trophy of war, a pair of leather breeches and topped boots, which from their antiquity had the appearance of being his authentic property. This was the leader and liberator of the people of England. He carried in his hand a large hammer which he had never parted with during the whole of the insurrection; and stopping when he had entered the room, and surveying its inmates with an air at once stupid and arrogant, recognizing Field the Chartist, he halloed out, “I tell you I want him. He’s my Lord Chancellor and Prime Minister, my head and principal Doggy; I can’t go on without him. Well, what do you think,” he said advancing to Field, “here’s a pretty go! They won’t stop the works at the big country mill you were talking of. They won’t, won’t they? Is my word the law of the land or is it not? Have I given my commands that all labour shall cease till the Queen sends me a message that the Charter is established, and is a man who has a mill to shut his gates upon my forces, and pump upon my people with engines? There shall be fire for this water;” and so saying the Liberator sent his hammer with such force upon the table, that the plate and porcelain and accumulated luxuries of Mr. Hatton’s breakfast perilously vibrated.

“We will enquire into this, Sir,” said Field, “and we will take the necessary steps.”

“We will enquire into this and we will take the necessary steps,” said the Liberator, looking round with an air of pompous stupidity, and then taking up some peaches, he began devouring them with considerable zest.

“Would the Liberator like to take some breakfast?” said Mr. Hatton.

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 sat 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