Messrs. Arthur Smallrice, Abraham Harracles, Jos Rawnpike, and James
Yarlett rose, stepped heavily on to the little platform, and stood in a
line with their hands in their pockets. "As a bird is known by its
note--" was hidden by the rampart of their shoulders. They had no
music. They knew the music; they had sung it a thousand times. They
knew precisely the effects which they wished to produce, and the means
of production. They worked together like an inspired machine. Mr
Arthur Smallrice gave a rapid glance into a corner, and from that corner
a concertina spoke--one short note. Then began, with no hesitating
shuffling preliminaries nor mute consultations, the singing of that
classic quartet, justly celebrated from Hull to Wigan and from
Northallerton to Lichfield, "Loud Ocean's Roar." The thing was
performed with absolute assurance and perfection. Mr Arthur Smallrice
did the yapping of the short waves on the foam-veiled rocks, and Big
James in fullest grandeur did the long and mighty rolling of the deep.
It was majestic, terrific, and overwhelming. Many bars before the close
Edwin was thrilled, as by an exquisite and vast revelation. He tingled
from head to foot. He had never heard any singing like it, or any
singing in any way comparable to it. He had never guessed that song
held such possibilities of emotion. The pure and fine essential
qualities of the voices, the dizzying harmonies, the fugal calls and
responses, the strange relief of the unisons, and above all the free,
natural mien of the singers, proudly aware that they were producing
something beautiful that could not be produced more beautifully,
conscious of unchallenged supremacy,--all this enfevered him to an
unprecedented and self-astonished enthusiasm.
He murmured under his breath, as "Loud Ocean's Roar" died away and the
little voices of the street supervened: "By Gad! By Gad!"
The applause was generous. Edwin stamped and clapped with childlike
violence and fury. Mr Peake slowly and regularly thumped one fist on
the bench, puffing the while. Glasses and mugs could be seen, but not
heard, dancing. Mr Arthur Smallrice, Mr Abraham Harracles, Mr Jos
Rawnpike, and Mr James Yarlett, entirely inattentive to the
acclamations, stepped heavily from the platform and sat down. When
Edwin caught Big James's eye he clapped again, reanimating the general
approval, and Big James gazed at him with bland satisfaction. Mr Enoch
Peake was now, save for the rise and fall of his great chest, as
immobile and brooding as an Indian god.
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