THE MUSIC AND THE DANCE
Along the great west road, ten thousand Monmouth colliers were streaming
towards London, in every stage of famine and discomfort. What they
intended to do when they reached the Capital they had no clearer idea
than had the fifteen thousand Midlanders at Barnet. All they knew was
that they were starving at home, and they could be no worse off in
London. Also in London there was to be found the Government, the
Government that had betrayed them.
The conception of the march had been wild, the execution was lamentable.
The leaders might have taken Napoleon's descent on Moscow as their
model. Ten hand-carts exhausted their commissariat. They were to live on
the land they passed through; but the land was agricultural and poor,
the populace regarded the Monmouth colliers as foreigners, and the
response was scanty. Only one circumstance saved the march from becoming
a tragedy of hundreds instead of merely, as it was, a tragedy of scores.
The men were being fed from London. By whom, and why, not even their
leaders knew, but each night a railway truck full of provisions was
awaiting their arrival at a station on their route, and each day the
men's leader-in-chief was informed where the next supply would be. It
influenced them to continue their journey pacifically when they must
otherwise, sooner or later, have abandoned all restraint and marched
through anarchy. It enabled them to reach London. It added another
element to the Government's distraction in their day of reckoning. It
was a Detail.
But at Windsor there were no provisions waiting. No one knew why. The
station authorities had nothing to suggest. After a week's regular
supply the leaders had come to expect their daily truck-load, had come
to rely implicitly upon it, and had made no other arrangements. They
conferred together anxiously; it was all there was for them to do.
Windsor was not sympathetic towards them. They had not expected it to
be, but they had expected to be independent of Windsor's friendship. Two
thousand special constables escorted them in and shepherded them
assiduously. Otherwise there might have been disturbances, for a Castle
guard comprised the extent of Windsor's military resources then. As it
was, the miners reached the Royal Borough hungry, and left it famished.
A rumour spread along the ranks as they set out that an unfortunate
mistake had been made, but that supplies would be awaiting them in Hyde
Park.
If that was a detail, as it might well have been, it was not wholly
successful. The men were hungry and dispirited, but London was not their
immediate goal. For weeks they had been telling the vacillating Cabinet
what ought to be done with the oil at Hanwood, and as they set out they
had boasted to their brothers across the Rhymney that before they
returned they would show them how to fire a beacon that would singe the
hair of five million Leaguers. Midway between Windsor and London they
proceeded to turn off from the highway under the direction of their
leaders, and debouching from the narrow lanes on to the fields beyond,
they began to advance across the country in a straggling, far-flung
wave.
On the previous day both the Home Office and the War Office had received
applications for protection from the Company at Hanwood, backed by
evidence which left no possible doubt that the Monmouth unemployed
contemplated an organised attack on the oil store. The two departments
replied distantly, that in view of the existing conditions within the
Metropolis and the forces at their disposal, it was impossible to
despatch either troops or constabulary to protect private property in
isolated districts. Hanwood acknowledged these replies, and gave notice
with equal punctilio that they would take the best means within their
power for safeguarding their interests, and at the same time formally
notified the Government that they held them responsible, through their
failure to carry out the obligations of their office, for all the
developments that the situation might lead to--an exchange of civilities
which in private life is sometimes attained much more simply by two
disputants consigning each other to the society of the Prince of
Darkness in four words.
Whatever there might be behind the intimation, there was little to
indicate it at dusk that afternoon. The stranger or the native passing
along Miss Lisle's secluded lane would have noticed only two
circumstances to suggest anything unusual in the air.
A few hundred feet above the trees within the wall, a box-kite was
straining at its rope in the rising gale. From the basket car a man
watched every movement of the countryside through his field-glasses, and
conversed from time to time through a telephone with the kite section
down below. A second wire ran from the field telephone to a room of the
offices where Salt was engaged with half a dozen of the chiefs of the
Council of the League. Sir John Hampden was not present. He was
remaining in London to afford the Government every facility for
negotiating a settlement whenever they might desire it.
In the lane, a group of men with tickets in their hats were loitering
about the bridge. They comprised a Peaceful Picket within the meaning of
the Act. They had been there since daybreak, and so far no one had shown
any wish to dispute their position.
The war-kite and the picket in the lane were the "eyes" of the opposing
belligerents.
The League had nothing to gain by submitting the issue to the
arbitrament of lead and fire. No one had anything to gain by it, but
after a bout at fisticuffs a defeated child will sometimes pick up a
dangerous stone and fling it. The League had accepted the challenge of
those who marched beneath the red banner for war on constitutional
lines. Some of those who marched beneath the red banner were now
disposed to try the effect of beating their ploughshares into swords,
and however much the League might have preferred them to keep to their
bargain, the most effective retort was to turn their own pacific sickles
into bayonets.
In the staff room Salt was addressing his associates--half military,
half political--who now represented the innermost Council of the League.
Some of them had been members of former Ministries, others soldiers who
had worn the insignia of generals, but they rendered to this unknown man
among them an unquestioning allegiance, because of what he had already
done, because he inspired them with absolute reliance in what he would
yet succeed in doing, and, not least, because he had the air that fitted
the position.
"More than two years ago," he was saying, "the first draft of the
formation and operations of the League contained a section much to the
following effect:
"'It is an essential feature of the plan that the League should work on
constitutional lines from beginning to end and in contemplation of
bringing about the desired reforms without firing a solitary shot or
violating a single law.
"'Nevertheless, it is inevitable that when the position becomes acute
civil disorders will arise out of the involved situation, and
demonstrations of the affected people will threaten the Government of
the day on the one hand and the proposed League on the other.
"'In these circumstances it will be prudent to contemplate, as a last
phase of the struggle, an organised military attack on the property of
the League, masked under the form of a popular riot, but instigated or
connived at by responsible authorities. I propose, therefore, to
establish the League stores in a position naturally suited for defence,
and to adopt such further precautions as will render them secure against
ordinary attack.'
"We have now reached that closing phase of the struggle," continued
Salt. "On the evidence of this report from Sir John Hampden we may
assume that within twenty-four hours our aggressive work will be over.
Will our opponents, in the language of the street, 'go quietly'?"
"It has fallen to my lot to read the Riot Act on three occasions," said
one of the company, "and I have seen disturbances in Ireland; but I have
never before known an unorganised mob to surround a position completely
and then to sit down to wait for night."
"Lieutenant Vivash wishes to speak to Mr Salt personally," said a
subordinate, appearing at the door.
Salt stepped into the ante-room, and spoke through the telephone.
"Yes, Vivash," he said to the man in the kite a quarter of a mile away.
"What is it?"
"Two general service wagons with bridge-making tackle have just been
brought up, and are waiting in Welland Wood," reported Vivash. "There is
a movement among the colliers over Barfold Rise. With them are about two
hundred men carrying rifles. They are not in uniform, but they _march_."
Salt turned to another instrument and jerked the switch rapidly from
plate to plate as he distributed his orders.
"Captain Norris, strengthen the Territorials at the outer wire North."
"Send up two star rockets to recall the motor-cycle scouts."
"Tell Disturnal to have the searchlights in immediate readiness."
"Fire brigade, full strength, turn out with chemical engine, and stand
under earthwork cover at central tank."
He turned again to the kite telephone to ask Vivash a detail. There was
no response.
"Get on with Lieutenant Vivash as soon as you can, and let me know at
once," he said to the one who was in charge, as he returned to the staff
room.
In less than a minute the operator was at the door again.
"I am afraid there is something the matter, sir," he explained. "I can
get no reply either from Lieutenant Vivash or from the kite section."
"Ring up the despatch room. Let some one go at once to Mr Moore and
return here with report."
"Yes, sir." He turned to go. "Here _is_ Mr Moore," he exclaimed,
standing aside from the door.
They all read some disaster in his face as he entered.
"I am deeply sorry to say that Lieutenant Vivash has been shot."
"Is he seriously hurt?" asked some one.
"He is dead. He was shot through the head by a marksman in Welland
Wood."
Salt broke the shocked silence.
"We have lost a brave comrade," he said simply. "Come, General Trench,
let us visit the walls."
It was dark when they returned. Salt passed through the room, calling to
his side the man with whom he had been most closely associated at
Hanwood, and traversing some passages led the way up a winding staircase
into the lantern of the tower. Here, under the direction of an
ex-officer of Royal Engineers, two powerful searchlights were playing on
every inch of doubtful ground that lay within their radius beyond the
entanglement that marked the outer line of the defences.
Nothing had been seen; not a solitary invader had yet shown himself
within the zone of light. The officer in charge was explaining a
technical detail of the land when, without the faintest warning, a
fulgent blaze of light suddenly ran along the edge of a coppice half a
mile away, and a noise like the crackling of a hundred new-lit fires
drifted on the wind. With the echo, a thick hedge to the east and a wood
lying on the west joined in the vicious challenge. A few bullets
splashed harmlessly against the steel shield that ingeniously protected
the lantern.
The searchlights oscillated uncertainly from sky to earth under the
shock of the surprise, and then settled down to stream unwinkingly into
the eyes of the enemy, while in the double darkness the defenders hugged
the earth behind the wire and began to reply with cool deliberation to
the opening volleys.
There was a knock upon the door of the little lantern room, and a
telescribe message was placed before Salt. It bore a sign showing that
it had come over the private system which the League maintained between
Hanwood and the head office. He read it through twice, and for almost
the first time since he had left his youth behind, he stood in absolute
indecision.
"It is necessary for me to go at once to London," he said, turning to
his companion, when he had made an irrevocable choice. "You will take
command in my absence, Evelyn, under the guidance of the Council."
"May I venture to remind you, sir, that we are completely surrounded?"
said Orr-Evelyn through his blank surprise.
"I have not overlooked it. You will----"
There was a sullen roar away in the north, a mile behind the coppice
that had first spoken. Something whistled overhead, not unmelodiously,
and away to the south a shell burst harmlessly among the ridges of a
ploughed field. The nearer searchlight elevated its angle a fraction and
centred upon a cloud of smoke that hung for a moment until the gale
whirled it to disintegration. The army, like the navy, had reverted to
black powder. It was Economy; and as it was not intended ever to go to
war again, it scarcely mattered.
"Marsham will engage that gun from both platforms D and E. Make every
effort to silence it with the least delay; it is the only real menace
there is. Hold the entanglement, but not at too heavy a cost. If it
should be carried----Come to my room."
"You have considered the possible effect of your withdrawal at this
moment, Salt?" said Orr-Evelyn in a low voice, as they hastened together
along the passages.
"I can leave the outcome in your hands with absolute reliance," replied
Salt. "If Hanwood is successfully held until to-morrow, it will devolve
upon Sir John Hampden to dictate terms to the Government. The end is
safely in sight independent of my personality.... My reputation----!" He
dismissed that phase with a shrug.
He threw open the door of his private office. A shallow mahogany case,
about a foot square, locked and sealed, was sunk into the opposite wall.
Salt knocked off the wax and opened the case with a key which he took
off the ring and gave to Orr-Evelyn as he spoke. Inside the case were a
dozen rows of little ivory studs, each engraved with a red number.
Fastened to the inside of the lid was a scale map of the land lying
between the outer wall and the wire fence. Every stud had its
corresponding number, surrounded by a crimson circle, indicated on the
plan.
"If the entanglement should be carried you will take no further risk,"
continued Salt. "Captain Ford will give you the general indication of
the attack from the lantern. There are two men detailed to each block of
mines who will signal you the exact moment for firing each mine. Those
are the numbered indicators above the box. Good-bye."
He paused at the door; time was more than life to him, but he had an
ordered thought for everything.
"If you hear no more of me, and what might be imagined really troubles
you, Evelyn, you can make use of this," he remarked, and laid the
telescript he had received upon a table.
It was not the time for words, written or spoken, beyond those of the
sheerest necessity. Half an hour passed before Orr-Evelyn had an
opportunity of glancing through the letter that had called Salt from his
post. When he had finished it he took it down, and read it aloud to the
headquarter staff amidst the profoundest silence, in passionate
vindication of his friend and leader. This was what they heard:
"UNITY LEAGUE, TRAFALGAR CHAMBERS.
"The building is surrounded by mob. Seaton Street, Pantile
Passage, and Pall Mall and the Haymarket, as far as I can see,
densely packed with frantic men. All others in building had
left earlier. _I shall remain._ Wires cut, and fear that you
may not receive this, as other telescribe messages for help
unanswered. Mob howling continuously for Sir John Hampden and
Mr Salt; dare not look out again, stoned. Shall delay advance,
doors and stairs, as long as possible, and burn all important
League books and papers last resource.
"Good-bye all, my dear friends.
"IRENE LISLE."