IN THE CAMP AT CHESTER TOWERS
The first days were spent in drill, in exhortation, in feasting, and in
singing. Grace Ingleby fitted new words to old tunes, and the men sang
them marching across the park. A detachment of keepers was placed at the
gates to receive new recruits, and to keep out the women who crowded
round them all day long--some laughing, some crying, some threatening.
The women of the Castle, being offered their choice whether to remain in
the service of the Earl or to go at once, divided themselves into two
parties--the elder women deciding to go, and the younger to remain;
'for,' as they said, 'if the men ride all over the country, as Mrs
Ingleby says they will, what can we women do to keep them down?' And
then they blamed the unequal marriages, and irreligious things were said
about the Duchess of Dunstanburgh. Those who stayed were employed in
making rosettes and ribbons in scarlet silk, and in getting out of the
old lumber-rooms all the finery which could be found to serve for the
men's uniforms.
'First rule,' said Jack the prudent, 'keep the men's spirits up--with
beer, and singing, and feasting; next, make them proud of their gallant
show.'
Every hour raised the spirits of the men, every moment new recruits came
in, who were greeted with shouts, beer, and exhortation, chiefly from
the cobbler, who now wore a glittering helmet, and carried a ten-foot
pike.
In the course of the next two or three days all the Bishop's disciples
came in: Clarence Veysey, dusty and wayworn, yet full of ardour; Algy
Dunquerque rode in gallantly, laughing at his escape. The others came in
one after the other, eager for employment, and were at once set to work.
No time this for love-making; but Grace exchanged a few words with
Clarence, and Faith ran about among the men, telling them all that
Captain Dunquerque was her sweetheart, asking who were the girls they
loved, and how they wooed them, and so delightfully turning everything
upside down that she was better than all the barrels of beer.
Lord Chester was the Chief, but Captain Dunquerque was the favourite. It
was he who kept everybody in good spirits--who organised races in the
evening, set the men to box, to wrestle, to fight with single-stick,
with prizes and cheering for the winners; so that the lads for the first
time in their lives felt the fierce joy of battle and the pride of
victory. It was Captain Dunquerque who had a word for every man,
forgetting none of their names; who praised them and encouraged them,
was all day long in the camp, never tired, never lost his temper--as
some of the keepers did who were promoted to be sergeants; who was
generous with the beer; who promised to every man money, independent
work, and a pretty wife--after the Cause was won. So that Algy
Dunquerque, the first commander-in-chief under the new régime, began his
popularity as the soldiers' general from the very first.
On the evening of his arrival, Clarence preached to the men--a faithful
discourse, which yet only revealed half the Truth. We must destroy
before we can build up.
He bade them remember that they were, as men, the workers of the
world--nothing could be done except by them; and then he told them some
of the wonders which had been accomplished by their forefathers in the
days when men had been acknowledged to be the thinkers and creators as
well as the workers, and he told them in such simple language as he
could command, how, since women had taken over the reins, everything had
gone backwards. Lastly, he bade them remember what they were, what their
lives had been, how slavish and how sad, and what their lives would
still continue to be unless they freed themselves.
'Time was--the good old time--when every man could raise himself, when
there was a ladder from the lowest station to the highest. Now, as you
are born, so you must die. No rising for you--no hope for you. Work and
slave--and die. That is your lot. They invented a religion to keep you
down. They told you that it is the will of Heaven that you should obey
women. It is a LIE.' The preacher shouted the words. 'It is a LIE. There
is no such religion; and I am here to teach you the Truth, when you
have proved that you are fit to receive it.'
The preacher was received with an indifference which was discouraging.
In fact, the men had been preached at so long, that they had ceased to
pay any attention to sermons. Nor could even Clarence's earnestness
surpass that of the Preaching Order, the Holy sisterhood, which trained
its members in the art of inspiring Hope, Terror, and Faith.
The address finished, the men betook them once more to singing, while
the beer went round about their camp-fires. Here was a glorious change!
Even the gamekeepers--a race not easily moved--congratulated each other
on the recovery of their freedom. That night a proclamation was made in
camp that every man would receive his pay himself--the same as that
earned in the fields--in full. Men looked at each other and wondered.
Those who only half believed in the Cause were reassured. To be paid,
instead of seeing your wife paid, proved, as nothing else could, the
strength and reality of the Rebellion. Another proclamation was made,
repealing all prohibitions for men to assemble, remain out-of-doors
after sunset, and form societies. This was even more warmly received
than the former proclamation, because many of the men did not know what
to do with their money when they got it; whereas they had all of them
learned this grand pleasure of companionship, drink, and song.
On that night and the next, two councils were held, big with importance
to the Realm of England. The first of these was at Chester Towers,
under the presidency of Lord Chester. There were present the
Bishop--whose impatience made him set out on the first receipt of the
news--Clarence Veysey, Algernon Dunquerque, Jack Kennion, and the rest
of the disciples. The Professor and the girls were in the room but they
did not speak.
They sat until late considering many things. Had they known more of
man's real nature, there would have been no hesitation, and a bold
forward march might have saved many difficulties. The Bishop and
Clarence Veysey, who believed the Truth by itself a sufficient weapon,
wanted to await the arrival of all Englishmen in the Park, and meantime
to be preaching perpetually. Algernon was for movement. The Chief at
last decided on a compromise. They would advance, but slowly; and would
send out, meanwhile, scouts and small parties to bring in recruits. The
danger of the Revolt, provided it were sufficiently widespread, lay
chiefly in the imagination. It was difficult even for the leaders, who
had been so long and so carefully trained by the Bishop and his wife, to
shake off the awe inspired by the feminine oppression and their early
training. Every woman seemed still their natural ruler, yet the Reign of
Woman rested on no more solid basis than this awe. Its only defence lay
in the regiments of Horse Guards and its Convict Wardens; while, to make
the latter available, the prisoners would have to be discharged.
The other council of war was held in the House of Peeresses, called
together hastily. There had been grave disquiet all day long; and
though nothing definite was known, it was whispered that there was an
outbreak of the Men. A Cabinet Council was called at noon, the Home
Department was agitated, the secretaries went about with pale faces,
there was continual ringing of bells and scurrying of clerks, the
Archbishop of Canterbury was sent for hurriedly, crowds of women
gathered about the lobbies of the House, and it was presently known
everywhere that the thing most dreaded of all things had happened--a
Rising. Outside the House it was not yet known where this had occurred,
nor under what leaders: within, the doors were closed, and in the midst
of a silence most profound and most unusual, the Duchess of Dunstanburgh
rose, with papers in her hand.
She briefly announced that a rebellion had broken out in Norfolk. A
score or so of poor peasants belonging to one small village had risen in
revolt. They were headed by Lord Chester. It was nothing--a mere
lamentable outbreak, which would be put down at once by the strong hand
of law.
Then she sat down. All faces were turned immediately to her Grace's
young rival. Lady Carlyon rose and asked if her Grace had any more
details to give the House. She implored the Government to put the House
in possession of all the facts, however painful they might be. The
Duchess replied that the news of this insurrection, about which there
could unfortunately be no doubt, reached her that morning only. It
arrived in the shape of a Report drawn up by the Vicar of Chester
Towers, and sworn before two justices of the peace. The rising, if it
was worthy to be called by such a name, was begun by the forcible rescue
from the hands of the law of a certain blacksmith--a scoundrel guilty of
wife-beating in its most revolting forms. He was torn from the hands of
the police by Lord Chester and a gamekeeper. The misguided young man
then called upon the men of the village to rise and follow him. He led
them to his own Castle. He was joined by a body of gamekeepers, and men
connected with manly sports of other kinds. By the last advices, he had
gone the desperate length of defying the Government, and was now
drilling and arming his troops. The Duchess assured the House again that
there was nothing to fear except a probable loss of life, which was
lamentable, but must be faced; that the Government had ordered two
thousand of the Convict Wardens to be held in readiness, and that
meanwhile they had sent two sisters of the Holy Preaching Order with
twenty constables to disperse the mob. As for the ringleaders, they
appeared to be, besides Lord Chester himself, Professor Ingleby of
Cambridge, her husband, her two daughters, and a band of some half-dozen
young gentlemen. The House might rest assured that signal justice would
be done upon these mad and wicked people, and that no favour should be
shown to rank or sex. As for herself, the House knew the relations which
existed between herself and Lord Chester----
Lady Carlyon sprang to her feet, and asked what relations these were.
The Duchess went on to say that there was no occasion to dilate upon
what was perfectly well known. She would, however, assure the House that
this unhappy man had cut himself off altogether from her sympathy. She
gave up, without a sigh, hopes that had once been dear to her, and left
a miscreant so godless, so abandoned, to his fate.
Lady Carlyon begged the House to suspend its judgment until the facts
were clearly known. At present all that appeared certain was, that a
body of men had locked themselves within the gates of Lord Chester's
park. She would ask her Grace whether any grievances had been stated.
The Duchess replied that at the right moment the alleged grievances, if
there were any, would be laid before the House.
Lady Carlyon asked again whether one of the grievances was not the
custom--falsely alleged to be based upon religion--which compelled young
men to marry women who were unsuitable and distasteful to them by reason
of age, temper, or other incompatibility?
This was the signal for the most frightful scene of disorder ever
witnessed in the House; for all Peeresses with husbands younger than
themselves screamed on one side, and the young Peeresses on the other.
After a little quiet had been obtained, Lady Carlyon was heard again,
and accused the Duchess of Dunstanburgh of being herself the sole cause
of the Insurrection. 'It is time,' she said, 'to use plainness of
speech. Let us recognise the truth that a young man cannot but abhor
and loathe so unnatural a union as that of twenty years with forty,
fifty, sixty. For my own part, I do not wonder that a man so
high-spirited as Lord Chester should have been driven to madness. All in
this House know well, without any pretences as to the honour of
Peeresses, that a majority in favour of the Duchess was certain. Can any
one believe that the judgment of the House would have been given for the
happiness of the young man? Can any one believe that he could have
contemplated the proposed union without repugnance? We know well what
the end of the rising may be; and of this am I well assured, that the
blood of this unhappy boy, and the blood of all those who perish with
him, are upon the head of the Duchess of Dunstanburgh.'
Then began another terrible scene, in which all the invective, the
recrimination, the accusations, the insinuations, of which the language
is capable, seemed gathered together and hurled at each other: there was
no longer a Government and an Opposition; there was the wrath of the
young, who had seen, or looked to see, the men they might have loved
torn from them by the old; there was the fury of the old, calling upon
Religion, Law, Piety, and Order.
Constance withdrew in the height of the battle, having said all she had
to say. It was a clear and bright morning; the sun was already rising;
there were little groups of women hanging about the lobbies still,
waiting for news. One of them stepped forward and saluted Constance. She
was a young journalist of great promise, and had often written leaders
at Constance's suggestion.
'Has your ladyship any more news?' she asked.
'I know nothing but what I have heard from ... from the Duchess.' It was
by an effort that Constance pronounced her name. 'I know no more.'
'We have heard more,' the journalist went on. 'We have heard from
Norfolk, by a girl who galloped headlong into town with the
intelligence, and is now at the War Office, that, yesterday morning at
nine o'clock, Lord Chester rode out of his Park, followed by his army,
carrying banners, and armed with guns, pikes, and swords. They are said
to number at present some two or three hundred only.'
Constance was too weary and worn with the night's excitement to receive
this dreadful news. She burst into passionate tears.
'Edward,' she cried, 'you rush upon certain death!' Then she recovered
herself. 'Stay! let me think. We must do something to allay the
excitement. The Government will issue orders to keep the men at
home--that is their first thought. We must do more: we must agitate for
a reform. There is one concession that must be made. Go at once and
write the strongest leader you ever wrote in all your life: treat the
rebellion as of the slightest possible importance; do not weigh heavily
upon the unhappy Chief; talk as little as possible about misguided lads;
say that, without doubt, the men will disperse; urge an amnesty; and
then strike boldly and unmistakably for the great grievance of men and
women both. Raise the Cry of "The Young for the Young!" And keep harping
on this theme from day to day.'
It was, however, too late for newspaper articles: a wild excitement ran
through the streets of London; the men were kept indoors; workmen who
had to go abroad were ordered not to stop on their way, not to speak
with each other, not to buy newspapers. Special constables were sworn in
by the hundred. Later on, when it became known that the insurgent forces
were really on their southward march, a proclamation was issued,
ordering a general day of humiliation, with services in all the
churches, and prayers for the safety of Religion and the Realm. The
Archbishop of Canterbury herself performed the service at Westminster
Abbey, and the Bishop of London at St Paul's.
* * * * *
Meantime, spite of law and orders, the country-people flocked from all
sides to see the gallant show of Lord Chester's little army. Captain
Dunquerque led the van, which consisted of fifty stalwart keepers. At
the head of the main body rode the Chief, clad in scarlet, with
glittering helmet; with him were the officers of his Staff, also
gallantly dressed and splendidly mounted. Next came, marching in fours,
his army of three hundred sturdy countrymen, armed with rifle and
bayonet; after them marched the younger men, some mere lads, carrying
guns of all descriptions, pikes, and even sticks,--not one among these
that did not carry a cockade: their banner, borne by two of the
strongest, was of red silk, with the words, 'We will be free!' An
immense crowd of women looked on as they started: some of them cursed
and screamed; but the girls laughed. Then other men of the villages
broke away from their wives and sisters, and marched beside the
soldiers, trying to keep in step, snatching their cockades, and shouting
with them. Last of all came a little band of twenty-five, mounted, who
served to keep the crowd from pressing too closely, and guarded a
carriage and four, in which were the Bishop, the Professor, and the two
girls. They sat up to their knees in scarlet cockades and rosettes,
which the girls were making up and the Professor was distributing.
In this order they marched. After the first few hours, it was found
that, besides a great number of recruits, the army had been joined by at
least a hundred village girls, who walked with them and refused to go
back. They followed their sweethearts. 'Let us keep them,' said the
Professor: 'they will be useful to us.'
At the next halting-place she had all these girls drawn up before her,
and made them a speech. She told them that if they desired a hand in the
great work, they might do their part: they would be allowed to join the
army on condition of marching apart from the men; of not interfering
with them in any way; of doing what they were told to do, and of
carrying a banner. To this they readily consented, being, in fact, to
one woman, enraged with the existing order of things, and caring very
little about being the mistress if they could not have their own
lovers. And in the end, they proved most valuable and useful allies.
Whenever they passed a house, Lord Chester sent half a dozen men to
seize upon whatever arms they could find, and all the ammunition, if
there was any. They had orders, also, to bring out the men, whom the
officers inspected; and if there were any young fellow among them, they
offered him a place in their ranks. A good many guns were got in this
way, but very few men,--the young men of the middle class being
singularly spiritless. They had not the healthy outdoor life, with
riding, shooting, and athletics, that men of Lord Chester's rank
enjoyed; nor had they the outdoor work and companionship which hardened
the nerves of the farm-labourers. Mostly, therefore, they gazed with
wonder and terror at the spectacle; and on being brought out and
harangued, meekly replied that they would rather stay at home, and
retired amid the jeers of the soldiers.
Several pleasant surprises were experienced. At one house, the squire, a
jolly fox-hunting old fellow, turned out with his four sons, all well
mounted, and brought with him a dozen good rifles with a large supply of
ammunition. The old fellow remarked that he was sixty-five years of age,
and had been wishing all his life, and so had his father and his
grandfather before him, to put an end to the intolerable upside-down
condition of things. 'And mind, my lady,' he shouted to his wife and
daughters, who were standing by, filled with rage and consternation,
'you and the girls, when we get back again, will sing another tune, or I
will know the reason why!' Nor was this the only instance.
When they marched through a village the trumpets blew, the drums beat,
the soldiers shouted and sang; then the men were brought out, and
invited to join; the place was searched for arms, and the company of
women ran about congratulating the girls of the place on the approaching
abolition of Forced Marriages.
The first day's march covered twenty miles. The army had passed through
five villages and one small town; they had seized on about two hundred
guns of all kinds, and a considerable quantity of ammunition; they had
increased their ranks by two hundred and fifty strong and lusty fellows.
The evening was not allowed to be wasted in singing and shouting. Drill
was renewed, and the new-comers taught the first elements of marching in
step and line. For the first time, too, they attempted a sham fight,
with sad blunders, as may be imagined.
'They are good material,' said the Professor, 'but your army has yet to
be formed.'
'If only,' murmured Clarence, 'they would listen to my preaching.'
'They have had too much preaching all their lives,' said the Bishop. 'We
will conquer first, and preach afterwards. Let us pray that there may be
no bloodshed.'
The second day's march was like the first; but the little army was now
swelling beyond all expectations. At the close of the second day it
numbered a thousand, and commissariat difficulties began. Here the
company of women proved useful. They were all country girls, able to
ride and drive; they 'borrowed' the carts of the farm-houses, and,
escorted by soldiers, drove about the country requisitioning provisions.
It became necessary to have wagons: these also were borrowed, and in a
short time the army dragged at its heels an immense train of wagons
loaded with ammunition, provisions, and stores of all kinds. For
everything that was taken, an order for its value was left behind,
stamped with the signature of 'Chester.'
At the close of the second day's march, being then near Bury St Edmunds,
they were two thousand strong; at the end of the third, being on
Newmarket Heath, they were five thousand; and here, because the place
was open and the position good, a halt of three days was resolved upon,
in which the men might be drilled, taught to act together, and divided
into corps; also, sham fights would be fought, and the men, some of whom
were little more than boys, could grow accustomed to the discharge of
guns and the use of their weapons. The camp was protected by sentinels,
and the cavalry scoured the country for recruits and information. As yet
no sign had been made by the Government. But on Sunday morning, being
the third day of the halt, the scouts brought in a deputation from the
House of Peeresses, consisting of two Sisters of the Holy Preaching
Order, and a guard of twenty-five policewomen. Lord Chester and his
staff rode out to meet them.
'What is your message?' he asked.
'The terms offered by the House to the insurgents,' replied one of the
Sisters, 'are, first laying down of arms, and dispersion of the men;
secondly, the immediate submission of the leaders.'
'And what then?' asked Lord Chester.
'Justice,' replied the Sister sternly. 'Now stand aside and let us
address the men.'
Lord Chester laughed.
'Go call a dozen of the women's company,' he ordered. 'Now,' when they
came, 'take these two Sisters, and march them through the camp with drum
and fife. These are the women who are trained to terrify the men with
lying threats, false fears, and vain superstitions. As for you
policewomen, you can go back and tell the House that I will myself
inform them of my terms.'
The officers of law looked at each other. They saw before them spread
out the white tents of the camp, the splendid army, the glittering
weapons, the brilliant uniforms, the flags, the noise and tumult of the
camp, and they were afraid. Presently they beheld, with consternation,
the most singular procession ever formed. First went the drums and
fifes; then came, handcuffed, the two Holy Preaching Sisters--they were
clad in their sacred white robes, to touch which was sacrilege; behind
them ran and danced the troop of village girls, shouting, pointing,
singing their new songs about Love and Freedom; and the soldiers came
forth from their tents clapping their hands and applauding. But the
Bishop sent word that they were to be stripped of their white robes and
turned out of the camp. It was in ragged flannel petticoats that the
poor Sisters regained their friends, and in woeful plight of mind as
well as of body.
The three days' halt finished, Lord Chester gave the word to advance.
And now his army, he thought, was large enough to meet any number of
Convict Wardens who might be sent against him. He had eight thousand
men, hastily drilled, but full of ardour; he had a picked corps of five
hundred guards, consisting of his faithful gamekeepers and the men who
had been always with gentlemen about their sports. These were good
shots, and pretty sure to be steady even under fire. He had five hundred
cavalry, mostly mounted well, and consisting of farmers' sons, officered
by the fox-hunting squire, his four sons, and a few other gentlemen who
had come in. The difficulty now was to admit all who crowded to the
camp. For the news had spread over all England, and the roads were
crowded with young fellows flying from their homes, defying the rural
police, to join Lord Chester's camp.
The time was come for a bold stroke. It was resolved to leave Jack
Kennion--greatly to his discontent, but there was no help--behind, to
receive recruits, and form an army of reserve. Lord Chester himself,
with the main body and Algy Dunquerque, was to press on. The boldest
stroke of all was the surprise of London, and this it was decided to
attempt. For by this time the ardour of the troops was beyond the most
sanguine hopes of the leaders: the submissiveness of three generations
had disappeared in a week; the meek and docile lads whose wives
received the pay, and ordered them to go and sit at home when there was
no work to do, were changed into hardy, reckless, and enthusiastic
soldiers. Turenne himself had not a more daredevil lot. They were nearly
all young; they had never before been free for a single day; they
rejoiced in their new companionship; they gloried in the sham fights,
the wrestling, the single-stick--all the games with which the fighting
spirit was awakened in them. As for the march, it was splendid: they
sang as they went; if they did not sing, they laughed--the joy of
laughter was previously unknown to these lads. The ruling sex did not
laugh among themselves, nor did they understand the masculine yearning
for mirth. In the upper classes jesting was ill-bred, and in the lower
it was irreligious. Irreligious! Why, in this short time the whole army
had thrown off their religion.
All over the country the men were rising and rushing to join Lord
Chester. The great conspiracy was not alone answerable for this sudden
impulse; nor, indeed, had the conspirators been successful in the towns,
where the spirit of the men had been effectually crushed by long
isolation. Here, however, the leaflets distributed among the girls bore
good fruit. Not a household in the country but was now fiercely divided
between those who welcomed the rebellion and those who hated and dreaded
the success of the men: on the one side, orthodoxy, age, conservatism;
on the other, youth, and the dream of an easy life, rendered easier by
the work and devotion of a lover. So that, though the towns remained
outwardly quiet, they were ready for the occupation of the rebels.
The army presented now an appearance very different from the ragged
regiment which sallied forth from the gates of the Park. They were
dressed in uniform: the guards wore a dark-green tunic--only proved
shots were admitted into their body; the cavalry were in scarlet, the
line were in scarlet; the artillery wore dark-green. All the men were
armed with rifles. Of course, the uniforms were not in all cases
complete, yet every day improved them; for among the volunteers were
tailors, cobblers, and handicraftsmen of all kinds, whose services were
given in their own trades. The great banner, with the words 'We will be
free!' was carried after the Chief, and in the rear marched the company
of a hundred girls, also in a kind of uniform, carrying their banner,
'Give us back our sweethearts!'
The line of march was kept as much as possible away from the towns,
because it was thought advisable not to irritate the municipalities
until the time came when they could be gently upset; also, the material
of the men in the towns was not of the sturdy kind with which they hoped
to win their battles.
Nothing more was heard of the House of Peeresses. What, then, were they
doing? They were holding meetings in the morning, and wrangling. No one
knew what to propose. They had sent executive officers of the law to the
camp; these had been contemptuously told to go back. They had summoned
the leaders to lay down their arms; they had been informed that Lord
Chester would dictate his own terms. They had sent Preaching
Sisters,--the most eloquent, the most persuasive, the most sacred: they
had been stripped of their sacred robes, tied to a cart-tail, and driven
through the camp by women, amid the derision of women--actually women!
What more could they do?
The army was reported as marching southwards by rapid marches, headed by
Lord Chester. They passed Bury St Edmunds and Cambridge, without,
however, entering the town. They recruited as they went; so that beside
the regularly drilled men, now veterans of a fortnight or so, it was
reported that the line of march was followed for miles by runaway boys,
apprentices, grooms, artisans, and labourers shouting for Lord Chester
and for liberty. All these things, and worse, were hourly reported to
the distracted House.
'And what are we doing?' shrieked the Duchess of Dunstanburgh. 'What are
we doing but talk? Are we, then, fallen so low, that at the first
movement of an enemy we have nothing but tears and recrimination? Is
this a time to accuse me--ME--of forcing the rebel chief into rebellion?
Is it not a time to act? When the rebellion is subdued, when the Chief
is hanged, and his miserable followers flogged--yes, flogged at the very
altars they have derided--let us resume the strife of tongues. In the
name of our sex, in the name of our religion, let us Act.'
They looked at each other, but no one proposed the only step left to
them. Lady Carlyon was no longer among them. She would attend no more
sittings. The clamour of tongues humiliated her. She sat alone in her
house in Park Lane, thinking sadly of what might happen.
'On me,' said the Duchess solemnly, 'devolves the duty, the painful
duty, of reminding the House that there is but one way to meet
rebellion. All human institutions, even when, like our own, they are of
Divine origin, are based upon--Force. Law is an idle sound
without--Force. Duty, religion, obedience, rest ultimately upon--Force.
These men have dared to band themselves together against law, order, and
religion. We must remember that they represent a very small, a really
insignificant, section of the men of this country. It is cheering, at
this moment of gloom and distress, to receive by every post letters from
every municipality in the country expressing the loyalty of the towns.
Order reigns everywhere, except where this turbulent boy is leading his
troops--to destruction. I use this word with the utmost reluctance; but
I must use this word. I say--destruction. Among the ranks of that army
are men known to many in this House. My own gamekeepers, many of my own
tenants' sons and husbands, are in that rabble-rout of raw,
undisciplined, and imperfectly armed rustics. Yet I say--destruction. We
have now but one thing to do. Call out our prison-guards, and let loose
these fierce and angry hounds upon the foe. I wait for the approval of
the House.'
All lifted their hands, but in silence; for they were sadly conscious
that they were sending the gallant, if mistaken fellows to death, and
bringing sorrow upon innocent homes. The House separated, and for a
while there was no more recrimination. The Duchess called a Cabinet
Council, and that night messengers sped in all directions to bring
together the Convict Guards--not only the two thousand first ordered to
be in readiness, but as many as could be spared. It was resolved to
replace them by men chosen from the prisoners, whose cases, in return
for their service, should have favourable consideration. By forced
marches, and by seizing on every possible means of conveyance, it was
reckoned that they could muster some ten thousand,--all strong,
desperate villains, capable of anything, and a match for twice that
number of raw village lads.
They came up in driblets--here a hundred and there a hundred--from the
various prisons throughout the country: they were men of rough and
coarse appearance; they wore an ugly yellow uniform; they bore
themselves as if they were ashamed of their calling, which certainly was
the most repulsive of any; they showed neither ardour for the work
before them nor any kind of fear.
They were received by clerks of the Prison Department, who sent them off
to camp in Hyde Park, where rations of some kind were prepared for them.
The clerks showed them scant courtesy, which, indeed, they seemed to
take as a matter of course; and once established in their camp, they
gave no trouble, keeping quite to themselves, and patiently waiting
orders.
Three days were thus expended. The excitement of the town was frightful.
Business was suspended, prayers were offered at all the churches every
morning, the men were most carefully kept from associating together,
constables patrolled in parties of four all night long, and continually
the post-girls came galloping along the roads bringing the news. 'They
are coming, they are coming!' Oh, what was the Government about? Could
they do nothing, then? What was the use of the Convict Wardens, unless
they were to be sent out to arrest the leaders, and shoot all who
refused to disband and disperse? But there were not wanting ominous
whispers among the crowds of wild talkers. What, it was asked, would
happen if the men did come? They would take the power into their own
hands. Very good. It could not be in worse hands than Lady
Dunstanburgh's. They would turn the women out of the Professions. Very
well, said the younger women. They only starved in the Professions; and
if the men were in power, they would have to find homes and food at
least for their sisters and wives. Let them come.
In three days Lord Chester was at Bishop-Stortford. Next, he was
reported to be encamped in Epping Forest. His cavalry had seized the
arsenal at Enfield, which, with carelessness incredible, had been left
in charge of two aged women. This gave him a dozen pieces of ordnance.
He was on the march from Epping; he was but a few miles from London;
contradictory rumours and reports of all kinds flew wildly about; he
was going to massacre, pillage, and plunder everything; he was afraid to
advance farther; he would destroy all the churches; he was restrained at
the last moment by respect for the faith in which he had been brought
up; his men had mutinied; his men clamoured to be led on London. All
these reports, and more, were whispered from one to the other. What was
quite certain was, that the Convict Wardens were all arrived, and were
under orders to march early in the morning. And it was also certain,
because girls who had ventured on the north roads had seen them, that
the rebels were encamped on Hampstead Heath, and it was said that they
were in high spirits--singing, dancing, and drinking. No one knew how
many they were--thousands upon thousands, and all armed.
There was little sleep in London during that night. The married women
remained at home to calm the excitement of the men, now getting beyond
their control. The unmarried women flocked by thousands to Hyde Park to
look at the tents of the Convict Wardens, now called the Army of
Avengers. In every tent eight men, more than a thousand tents; ten
thousand men; the fiercest, bravest, most experienced of men. What a
lesson, what a terrible lesson, would the rebels learn next morning!