CHAPTER I._Savrola: A Tale of the Revolution in Laurania

SAVROLA

A TALE OF THE REVOLUTION IN LAURANIA

WINSTON SPENCER CHURCHILL

AUTHOR OF "THE RIVER WAR: AN ACCOUNT OF THE RECOVERY

OF THE SOUDAN" AND "THE STORY OF THE MALAKAND

FIELD FORCE"

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.

91 AND 93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK

LONDON AND BOMBAY

1900

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.

TYPOGRAPHY BY J. B. CUSHING & CO., NORWOOD, MASS.

THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED

THE OFFICERS

OF THE

IVTH (QUEEN'S OWN) HUSSARS

IN WHOSE COMPANY THE AUTHOR LIVED

FOR FOUR HAPPY YEARS

PREFATORY NOTE

This story was written in 1897, and has already appeared in serial form

in _Macmillan's Magazine_. Since its first reception was not

unfriendly, I resolved to publish it as a book, and I now submit it

with considerable trepidation to the judgment or clemency of the public.

WINSTON S. CHURCHILL.

CONTENTS

I. An Event of Political Importance

II. The Head of the State

III. The Man of the Multitude

IV. The Deputation

V. A Private Conversation

VI. On Constitutional Grounds

VII. The State Ball

VIII. "In the Starlight"

IX. The Admiral

X. The Wand of the Magician

XI. In the Watches of the Night

XII. A Council of War

XIII. The Action of the Executive

XIV. The Loyalty of the Army

XV. Surprises

XVI. The Progress of the Revolt

XVII. The Defence of the Palace

XVIII. From a Window

XIX. An Educational Experience

XX. The End of the Quarrel

XXI. The Return of the Fleet

XXII. Life's Compensations

CHAPTER I.

AN EVENT OF POLITICAL IMPORTANCE.

There had been a heavy shower of rain, but the sun was already shining

through the breaks in the clouds and throwing swiftly changing shadows

on the streets, the houses, and the gardens of the city of Laurania.

Everything shone wetly in the sunlight: the dust had been laid; the air

was cool; the trees looked green and grateful. It was the first rain

after the summer heats, and it marked the beginning of that delightful

autumn climate which has made the Lauranian capital the home of the

artist, the invalid, and the sybarite.

The shower had been heavy, but it had not dispersed the crowds that

were gathered in the great square in front of the Parliament House. It

was welcome, but it had not altered their anxious and angry looks; it

had drenched them without cooling their excitement. Evidently an event

of consequence was taking place. The fine building, where the

representatives of the people were wont to meet, wore an aspect of

sombre importance that the trophies and statues, with which an ancient

and an art-loving people had decorated its façade, did not dispel. A

squadron of Lancers of the Republican Guard was drawn up at the foot of

the great steps, and a considerable body of infantry kept a broad space

clear in front of the entrance. Behind the soldiers the people filled

in the rest of the picture. They swarmed in the square and the streets

leading to it; they had scrambled on to the numerous monuments, which

the taste and pride of the Republic had raised to the memory of her

ancient heroes, covering them so completely that they looked like

mounds of human beings; even the trees contained their occupants, while

the windows and often the roofs, of the houses and offices which

overlooked the scene were crowded with spectators. It was a great

multitude and it vibrated with excitement. Wild passions surged across

the throng, as squalls sweep across a stormy sea. Here and there a

man, mounting above his fellows, would harangue those whom his voice

could reach, and a cheer or a shout was caught up by thousands who had

never heard the words but were searching for something to give

expression to their feelings.

It was a great day in the history of Laurania. For five long years

since the Civil War the people had endured the insult of autocratic

rule. The fact that the Government was strong, and the memory of the

disorders of the past, had operated powerfully on the minds of the more

sober citizens. But from the first there had been murmurs. There were

many who had borne arms on the losing side in the long struggle that

had ended in the victory of President Antonio Molara. Some had

suffered wounds or confiscation; others had undergone imprisonment;

many had lost friends and relations, who with their latest breath had

enjoined the uncompromising prosecution of the war. The Government had

started with implacable enemies, and their rule had been harsh and

tyrannical. The ancient constitution to which the citizens were so

strongly attached and of which they were so proud, had been subverted.

The President, alleging the prevalence of sedition, had declined to

invite the people to send their representatives to that chamber which

had for many centuries been regarded as the surest bulwark of popular

liberties. Thus the discontents increased day by day and year by year:

the National party, which had at first consisted only of a few

survivors of the beaten side, had swelled into the most numerous and

powerful faction in the State; and at last they had found a leader.

The agitation proceeded on all sides. The large and turbulent

population of the capital were thoroughly devoted to the rising cause.

Demonstration had followed demonstration; riot had succeeded riot; even

the army showed signs of unrest. At length the President had decided

to make concessions. It was announced that on the first of September

the electoral writs should be issued and the people should be accorded

an opportunity of expressing their wishes and opinions.

This pledge had contented the more peaceable citizens. The extremists,

finding themselves in a minority, had altered their tone. The

Government, taking advantage of the favourable moment, had arrested

several of the more violent leaders. Others, who had fought in the war

and had returned from exile to take part in the revolt, fled for their

lives across the border. A rigorous search for arms had resulted in

important captures. European nations, watching with interested and

anxious eyes the political barometer, were convinced that the

Government cause was in the ascendant. But meanwhile the people

waited, silent and expectant, for the fulfilment of the promise.

At length the day had come. The necessary preparations for summoning

the seventy thousand male electors to record their votes had been

carried out by the public officials. The President, as the custom

prescribed, was in person to sign the necessary writ of summons to the

faithful citizens. Warrants for election would be forwarded to the

various electoral divisions in the city and the provinces, and those

who were by the ancient law entitled to the franchise would give their

verdict on the conduct of him whom the Populists in bitter hatred had

called the Dictator.

It was for this moment that the crowd was waiting. Though cheers from

time to time arose, they waited for the most part in silence. Even

when the President had passed on his way to the Senate, they had

foreborne to hoot; in their eyes he was virtually abdicating, and that

made amends for all. The time-honoured observances, the long-loved

rights would be restored, and once more democratic government would be

triumphant in Laurania.

Suddenly, at the top of the steps in the full view of the people, a

young man appeared, his dress disordered and his face crimson with

excitement. It was Moret, one of the Civic Council. He was

immediately recognised by the populace, and a great cheer arose. Many

who could not see him took up the shout, which re-echoed through the

square, the expression of a nation's satisfaction. He gesticulated

vehemently, but his words, if he spoke at all, were lost in the tumult.

Another man, an usher, followed him out hurriedly, put his hand on his

shoulder, appeared to speak with earnestness, and drew him back into

the shadow of the entrance. The crowd still cheered.

A third figure issued from the door, an old man in the robes of

municipal office. He walked, or rather tottered feebly down the steps

to a carriage, which had drawn up to meet him. Again there were

cheers. "Godoy! Godoy! Bravo, Godoy! Champion of the People!

Hurrah, hurrah!"

It was the Mayor, one of the strongest and most reputable members of

the party of Reform. He entered his carriage and drove through the

open space, maintained by the soldiery, into the crowd, which, still

cheering, gave way with respect.

The carriage was open and it was evident that the old man was painfully

moved. His face was pale, his mouth puckered into an expression of

grief and anger, his whole frame shaken with suppressed emotion. The

crowd had greeted him with applause, but, quick to notice, were struck

by his altered appearance and woeful looks. They crowded round the

carriage crying: "What has happened? Is all well? Speak, Godoy,

speak!" But he would have none of them, and quivering with agitation

bade his coachman drive the faster. The people gave way slowly,

sullenly, thoughtfully, as men who make momentous resolutions.

Something had happened, untoward, unforeseen, unwelcome; what this was,

they were anxious to know.

And then began a period of wild rumour. The President had refused to

sign the writs; he had committed suicide; the troops had been ordered

to fire; the elections would not take place, after all; Savrola had

been arrested,--seized in the very Senate, said one, murdered added

another. The noise of the multitude changed into a dull dissonant hum

of rising anger.

At last the answer came. There was a house, overlooking the square,

which was separated from the Chamber of Representatives only by a

narrow street, and this street had been kept clear for traffic by the

troops. On the balcony of this house the young man, Moret, the Civic

Councillor, now reappeared, and his coming was the signal for a storm

of wild, anxious cries from the vast concourse. He held up his hand

for silence and after some moments his words became audible to those

nearest. "You are betrayed--a cruel fraud--the hopes we had cherished

are dashed to the ground--all has been done in vain-- Cheated!

cheated! cheated!" The broken fragments of his oratory reached far

into the mass of excited humanity, and then he shouted a sentence,

which was heard by thousands and repeated by thousands more. "The

half the electors have been erased. To your tents, oh people of

Laurania!"

For an instant there was silence, and then a great sob of fury, of

disappointment, and of resolve arose from the multitude.

At this moment the presidential carriage, with its four horses, its

postilions in the Republican livery, and an escort of Lancers, moved

forward to the foot of the steps, as there emerged from the Parliament

House a remarkable figure. He wore the splendid blue and white uniform

of a general of the Lauranian Army; his breast glittered with medals

and orders; his keen strong features were composed. He paused for a

moment before descending to his carriage, as if to give the mob an

opportunity to hiss and hoot to their content, and appeared to talk

unconcernedly with his companion, Señor Louvet, the Minister of the

Interior. He pointed once or twice towards the surging masses, and

then walked slowly down the steps. Louvet had intended to accompany

him, but he heard the roar of the crowd and remembered that he had some

business to attend to in the Senate that could not be delayed; the

other went on alone. The soldiers presented arms. A howl of fury

arose from the people. A mounted officer, who sat his horse unmoved,

an inexorable machine, turned to a subordinate with an order. Several

companies of foot-soldiers began defiling from the side street on the

right of the Chamber, and drawing up in line in the open space which

was now partly invaded by the mob.

The President entered his carriage which, preceded by an entire troop

of Lancers, immediately started at a trot. So soon as the carriage

reached the edge of the open space, a rush was made by the crowd. The

escort closed up; "Fall back there!" shouted an officer, but he was

unheeded. "Will you move, or must we move you?" said a gruffer voice.

Yet the mob gave not an inch. The danger was imminent. "Cheat!

Traitor! Liar! Tyrant!" they shouted, with many other expressions too

coarse to be recorded. "Give us back our rights--you, who have stolen

them!"

And then some one at the back of the crowd fired a revolver into the

air. The effect was electrical. The Lancers dropped their points and

sprang forward. Shouts of terror and fury arose on all sides. The

populace fled before the cavalry; some fell on the ground and were

trampled to death; some were knocked down and injured by the horses; a

few were speared by the soldiers. It was a horrible scene. Those

behind threw stones, and some fired random pistol shots. The President

remained unmoved. Erect and unflinching he gazed on the tumult as men

gaze at a race about which they have not betted. His hat was knocked

off, and a trickle of blood down his cheek showed where a stone had

struck. For some moments the issue seemed doubtful. The crowd might

storm the carriage and then,--to be torn to pieces by a rabble! There

were other and more pleasant deaths. But the discipline of the troops

overcame all obstacles, the bearing of the man appeared to cow his

enemies, and the crowd fell back, still hooting and shouting.

Meanwhile the officer commanding the infantry by the Parliament House

had been alarmed by the rushes of the mob, which he could see were

directed at the President's carriage. He determined to create a

diversion. "We shall have to fire on them," he said to the Major who

was beside him.

"Excellent," replied that officer; "it will enable us to conclude those

experiments in penetration, which we have been trying with the

soft-nosed bullet. A very valuable experiment, Sir," and then turning

to the soldiers he issued several orders. "A very valuable

experiment," he repeated.

"Somewhat expensive," said the Colonel dryly; "and half a company will

be enough, Major."

There was a rattle of breech-blocks as the rifles were loaded. The

people immediately in front of the troops struggled madly to escape the

impending volley. One man, a man in a straw hat, kept his head. He

rushed forward. "For God's sake don't fire!" he cried. "Have mercy!

We will disperse."

There was a moment's pause, a sharp order and a loud explosion,

followed by screams. The man in the straw hat bent backwards and fell

on the ground; other figures also subsided and lay still in curiously

twisted postures. Every one else except the soldiers fled; fortunately

there were many exits to the square, and in a few minutes it was almost

deserted. The President's carriage made its way through the flying

crowd to the gates of the palace, which were guarded by more soldiers,

and passed through in safety.

All was now over. The spirit of the mob was broken and the wide

expanse of Constitution Square was soon nearly empty. Forty bodies and

some expended cartridges lay on the ground. Both had played their part

in the history of human developement and passed out of the

considerations of living men. Nevertheless the soldiers picked up the

empty cases, and presently some police came with carts and took the

other things away, and all was quiet again in Laurania.