England against the World

Chapter I

X. THE PALAIS DE JUSTICE AT BRUSSELS, .... CONTENTS. VIII

CHAPTER X.

, . 321 HORACE S ORATION, . J

CHAPTER XI. THE

sailor's story, ....•■• 369

CHAPTER XII. THE

secrf.t, ..••••• 395

CHAPTER XIII. THE GREAT BATTLE BEGUN,

.

CHAPTER I.

A STORMY NIGHT. It was a stormy night. The rain had been falling heavily during the day, but towards night it fell with the fury of an equinoctial gale. The heavens looked black and threatening ; the atmosphere appeared to be a dense mass of long and vapoury lines. It was a night that compelled one to seek the comfort of his own fireside. The rain was blown from the tops of the houses in strings of derangement and confusion. It was well nigh impossible for pedestrians to see through the liquid wreaths by which they were surrounded. There were few of these about even in the town, whilst the country with its cataclsyms and its terrors was practically deserted. Cattle crouched at the trunks of trees, horses now and again galloped forth to unlock the gates that separated them from their stable homes.

The main street of Kinlet was only disturbed by the occasional rattle of some traveller's conveyance, as it tumbled blindly forward upon its urgent errand. Kinlet was only a village, though its position on the high road to Bournemouth gave it the character of a little town. Its inhabitants were four A hundred in number; it could boast of three grocers' shops, one drapery store, two fruiterers' establishments, a village smithy, the Black Lion Inn, a waggon - repairing depot, and a coffee-house that served also as a kind of hostel for the dissemination of gossip and news. Kinlet was the only known village within a radius of ten miles ; its import ance was therefore greater than you would take it to be. Those of its people who were not employed at the smithy, the waggon yard, the Black Lion, or one of the tradesmen's houses, were engaged upon the neighbouring farms.

The village was noted for its excellent character — its shops were closed at seven o'clock, its inn was generally shut an hour later for want of customers. But to-night it was altogether deserted, the town was left to darkness and to the storm. The gale increased as the hours went by ; its liquid symbols marched to further conquests ; the village brook was already running over; it would go hard with any man who attempted to cross its foaming torrents. Out of the four hundred souls at Kinlet, only one man was foolish enough to defy the terrors of the storm. He was standing alone at the corner of the Bournemouth road, and was as wet as the objects around him. He seemed to be in a state of im becility or intoxication ; his face was bloated, his body restless and excited, his countenance full of hatred and mischief.

He had retained only sufficient self-command to possess himself of the dark purposes of his soul. His fists were closed; his teeth were clenched; he peered through the gale at something of which he seemed to be afraid. His clothes were not of the worst quality, though they had evidently seen better days. He stood over six feet high; his chest was deep and strong ; his wrists looked like bands of iron ; he was a powerful and a handsome man. It would have gone hard with any ordinary mortal who had pre sumed to cross his path. He appeared to be sensible of his wrongs and his blighted pride; his cogitations went on incessantly, and developed the mania that had made him its obedient slave. ' If he makes his appearance to-night I will kill him ! ' he exclaimed, and thereupon doubled his great fists, and struck them into the darkness before him.

The effort was too much for the man, and he fell down into the streams of water that glittered in the darkness. He arose again in a moment, and paid no heed to his fall. It was as dark as it could possibly be; the wind howled as if to mock the man to scorn. The effort seemed to have quickened him in his design. He continued to look at that which no sober man could see. ' I will kill him,' he thundered as he placed himself in a com bative attitude again. His voice was musical and cultured, though somewhat changed by the dissoluteness of his life. ' Who but he has invoked their aid ? ' he asked, ' Who but he has asked them to come and torment me? Who but he has been the cause of the conflicts to which I have been exposed? Do you tell me that they are beyond the power and reach of mortals ? What is their mission but to carry out the vengeance for which they were created ?

Were their decrees executed by man they would be less poignant than they are. They delight in torturing us, in making us stages upon which to practise the parts of their drama. Their attacks are made at random, and when we wish to acknow ledge our defeats they grin and add another stripe to our betrayal. They come in legions, and always leave us a prey to the darkest despair. I have struck out at them only to discover that they are above the power of human hurt. Their hideous, mocking laugh is the worst torment that they could inflict ; it even pursues me in my dreams. Am I to be their prey for ever? Not if one well-deserved blow can kill him. I have sworn to take his life. I will follow up my threat with the resolution I have learned from them. Good horrors! they have made their appearance again.' As the man uttered these words he raised his powerful arms to fight the approaching spectres.

His brain must have been on fire, for he struck out as if he were sur rounded by myriads of tormenting phantons. The tempest increased in volume and in fury; the wind whistled through the trees ; the rain fell as if heaven had opened its win dows ; the people of the village were either ensconced in sleep or mingling their shadowy thoughts with the ad vances of the storm. The sight was calculated to move the stoutest heart, for God's image had been recklessly defiled. The man's life had been a mystery to the people of the village. They knew not whence he came or whither he would go. His ravings were mocked by the gale, and borne away as if they were the shrill pipings of a child. In that part of the village he was alone, but a small figure emerged from one of its three back streets, and wended its way as if in search of something.

The cautious way in which the little lad moved, the glances which he cast so earnestly around, his disregard for everything but the object of his search, proved his experience to be greater than his dozen years. He was clad in a suit of faded velvet; his shoes were thin and worn ; his little cap was threadbare and soaking with the midnight rain. As he approached the dark shadow of the Black Lion Inn, he looked half scared and half pleased. He moved cautiously, so that his footsteps might not be heard, forgetful of the fact that the precaution was not needed on such a night as this. His features appeared to have been chiselled ; his high forehead corresponded to his thin and mobile lips ; his nose was of the Roman order; a mass of curly hair hung down over his little neck ; and if Byron's allegation be correct, his delicate hands would prove him to have sprang from a long line of noble blood.

There were marks of care upon his features ; his cheeks were somewhat depressed ; he was afraid of being observed. He looked tired and hungry, but there was a kind of cheerfulness about his abandoned hopes that made him a hero. He could venture to weep without being seen ; the dismal night would sing him a lullaby ; his sorrow would be hushed by the friendly shelter of the storm. He had learned to commune with nature, for a cold world had refused him its sympathy. His countenance fell as his expectations died away, and he leaned against a neighbouring wall to weep over the agonies of his despair. But he uttered no angry word, no whisper that would reflect upon the author of his pain. His search had been fruitless, his hope destroyed, his trust withered by the blasts that had passed over it.

He would sit down to rest before commencing his search again. Storm-clouds dropped to hide his sorrow from the sight of heaven ; liquid wreaths encircled his little brow to re place the human sympathies that had gone. Could Zeuxis have placed his profile upon canvas, he would well-nigh have got seraphs to snap at the lovely picture. What a commentary upon our modern civilisation ! What a theme for a poem ! What a spectacle for sculp ture ! He could venture to rest awhile for no one would be likely to pass that way before morning. The boy would, perhaps, have slumbered, but what was that he heard? Was it his fancy? Was it ought save the fantasies of a dream ? Yes, it was a voice, and it sounded as if its possessor were in pain. Had he been mistaken? He would listen again. There was no sound to be heard now, all was as silent as the grave.

Could it have been the moanings of the wind? Again the voice rose above the howlings of the storm, and again the boy tried to catch the direction from whence it came. Ah ! he had it at last. The lad arose from the doorstep and approached the spot whence he had heard the cry. The night was dark, he could with difficulty make out how many figures there were present. He heard a thud,- what could it be? The boy had too long been accustomed to danger to be afraid ; but his heart beat wildly as he reflected upon the possibilities of the hour. Would it matter if he himself were killed ? Kinlet folk were not to blame for the wrongs he had suffered, for his life was but a myth to them. The burden upon his soul was his own'; perhaps it would be a blessing if it were never divulged to the world. A fresh outburst of tears trickled down his cheeks as he remembered that the loss of his life would be followed by the ruin of the cause which it had espoused.

He approached near enough to see without at first being seen, and perceived that one of the combatants was con tinually falling to the ground. Did he know that voice? He trembled as he bent his ear to listen again. Yes, it was a voice he had often heard before. A flood of memories rushed across his mind as he drew nearer to the person or persons before him. The voice again rose high as it cried, ' I will kill him if he makes his appearance here to-night ! ' One of them he knew, but who was the other? The suspense had been too great for him ; he was weak and tired, and as he drew nearer to the men before him he stumbled and fell. He was up again in a moment, and in a voice that sounded like music, he asked if he could be of any use to them ? The night was too dark to see how many persons were there, but he believed that there was a man on either side of him.

The combatants immediately ceased their struggles, and turned their attention to the boy. For a moment or two not a word was uttered. As the lad's eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he perceived that he was alone with a maniac or a drunken man. The man eyed the lad as a cat eyes its victim. Whatever his intentions were, he was in a position to carry them out. His eyes rolled like balls of fire; his laugh sounded like the echoes of a sepulchre ; he knew that he had his victim at last. But the boy showed no signs of fear. Appalling as was the disparity in their conditions and their ages, the lad reflected not upon his peril. 'At last I have you in my grasp,' the stranger cried. 'The appeals to your fantastic friends have been nobly answered, and they have sent you here to grace my triumph.

Their decisions are mysterious, and cannot be deciphered by the mob, but you shall learn their secrets here to-night. You are about to know why I have mysti fied those who would enjoy their intercourse, those whom you have instigated to discover the secrets of my life. These secrets are the only pleasures that can balance the tortures which they inflict upon me. See what a night it is for my requital; mark how black the heavens are, how the wind howls, how the rain promises to shelter me in my work of revenge ! Do you not see them grinning at my triumphs? Their mission is to destroy, to torment, to hate, to pursue with the repugnance that belongs to the ethereal sphere from whence they came. Observe the fire in their eyes. I'll kill you if you disobey. Three years have rolled by since you invoked their co-operation ; the pent-up anxieties of that time are about to make you tremble.

Three years' reprisals to be thrown into one sweet deed of revenge. Ah me, the prospect is delightful ! Let the heavens continue their thunderings; the black ruin which they pour forth shall be the only witnesses of your despair. Ask for mercy, shout for help, cringe for pardon, your words will ring in my ears with a melody which those spectres would give half their projects of revenge to call their own.' Gazing steadily at his powerful opponent the boy re plied, ' Sir ! ' but the word faltered on his tongue ; his voice quivered ; his mien depicted the sorrow of his soul. The circumstance increased the madman's delight, and made him shout for joy. 'Sir,' the lad began again, 'it is not the fear of death that bids me speak. I have no need to ask for pardon, nor to shout for help. Death would take me to one whose memory is dearer to me than my life.

To join her amongst the angels is the greatest boon that I wish to secure. I cannot forget the attentions she used to pay me, the in tensity of the love that I can never repay. My memory travels over the greater period of my life, and up to three years ago my life was a happy one indeed. Had my darling mother lived it would have been a happy one to-day.' The drunkard had hitherto fixed a look of hatred on the little figure before him, but he now turned it to the spectres that stood or sat or rested behind the boy. The lad stopped in the midst of his story to see what the man was about to do. 'Go on,' cried the latter, 'or I shall immediately take your life. I hold back because your appeal for mercy in tensifies the sweetness of my revenge.' The lad was calm and collected, and at this remark proceeded with his story. 'She was not rich enough to put me to school, but she was able to educate me at home.

Her manner was so gentle, she spoke with so much grace, her stores of in formation were so great, that my lessons became a pastime rather than a task. I was often tempted to ask her some thing about the days when she herself was a child. She smiled, told me how hard she had worked at her lessons when she was young, and added that I must learn to abandon my curiosity. Time rolled on, and I noticed a change in her appearance. She, who had been so sprightly, and who never moved without a smile, was fading before my eyes. Her delicate hands became bony; the blue veins stood out like wires to keep the parts together ; her step became slower; her breath was hardly strong enough to sustain her feeble frame. I suddenly knew that she was about to die. She tried to smile when I told her so, but the effort was too feeble to deceive me.

She took to her bed, and became weaker every day. For two weeks she lay in bed without murmuring, and I began to think that my heart would break. She endeavoured to calm my fears ; she begged me to be true to the lessons I had re ceived from her. I promised to remember them. She drew me nearer to her side, and said she had a sacred promise to extract from me. Her utterances were broken, her frame trembled, her smile died away ; she was obliged to pause for want of strength to go on. She said she would like to delay her departure, for she believed that troubled days were about to fall upon her humble home. Would I promise to carry out her dying request? I promised in the presence of death. She mentioned the word 'father,' and paused to see whether I was able to comprehend her meaning. I understood too well what was coming.

Was ever a child too young to understand a dying mother's words ? "'Father,'" she continued, "was a noble man up to the time your little sister was laid in the grave. His life had been wrapped up in the baby's being ; her departure was the means of altering his own. No human sympathy could com fort him, no human help could alleviate his pain. I am afraid of the future that is before him. Would that my life were spared to see him a physical and intellectual giant again. Promise, my darling, to devote your life to your dear father's reformation, to bring him back to him self again. Promise that your nights and days shall be given to the work, and that you will relinquish every ambition to save him from himself." 'She sank back exhausted; her lovely face looked like marble, her eyes were fixed and glassy ; there was an awful rattle in her throat; her hands were clasped in prayer, and, as I knelt down to assist her in that sacred act, she left me to join the angels.' ' The storm showed no signs of abatement ; the midnight hour had come and gone ; he would not be disturbed in his deeds of revenge.

The boy's self-command was wonderful; he quailed not though he was cognisant of his danger. The man had comprehended nothing of the boy's story; he had only allowed it to proceed because its anguish filled him with delight. After a pause, the boy resumed the thread of his tale. ' In fulfilment of the promise that I made to my dying mother, I have again come out to fetch you home. In your better moments you mingle your tears with mine. To-morrow you will regret the work of to-day. I am now old enough and strong enough to work for myself and for you. We will leave Kinlet for a town where I can secure employment and where I can maintain you as well. We will start at once, my dear father, for—' The sentence was never finished ; the man had passed beyond the bonds of self-control. Though delivered in a voice that was harsh and evanescent, his ejaculations were eloquent and terrifying. 'The time has come,' he cried, 'for me to execute my revenge.

I have been patiently listening to your appeals ; your distress has given me satisfaction. Pleasure becomes monotonous when its indulgence is long continued. Was there ever such a sweet moment as this ? Without revenge life would lose its charm ; hope would be robbed of ite beauty ; resolution would sink to a degraded level. Revenge has prompted those devils to forego the fight, that they may enjoy the spectacle of your despair. Revenge will lead them up to the conflict again, when that pleasure has been gratified and destroyed. Revenge will sharpen me for another stoke of luck when I see them approaching for the conflict. No taste is so sweet, no draught of delight so splendid as that of revenge. Revenge has made me happy in life ; revenge shall soothe my reflections in death. Sweetest revenge thou art mine.' He lifted his brawny arm ; the boy cried, ' Father ! ' and stepped back to avoid the blow, but he was felled like an ox to the ground.

The full force of that blow would have killed him ; even now he lay as if he were dead. The boy lay still, half stupefied, half unconscious of the scene in which he had played a part. His father had carried out his revenge, and believing that the prompter of his torment would never rise again, he wended his way towards his miserable home. How he managed to reach it is more than we can tell. We only know that he managed to scramble into his hovel before the break of day. The blow had been delivered just behind the right temple, and had caused that part of the organism to rise like an egg. There was something noble in the boy's simplicity, in the meekness with which he eventually peered through the storm and smiled. Was it a request that his fidelity should meet with her approbation ? He was but half conscious yet, thought the rain was cooling his heated and swollen temple.

What had brought him there? He tried to rise, but the objects were moving and he could not stand. Where was his father? What a peculiar place in which to rest ! Had he been asleep ? He had just communicated his future plans to his father ; had, in fact, asked his father to follow him to Bournemouth. His father had commenced the journey, whilst he had been allowed to sleep on. If he did not speedily follow, he would have little chance of overtaking him. How mysteriously everything moved ; surely he was not unwell ? He would try to overtake his father on the Bournemouth road. Had his father been drunk lately? Not that he could remember. He was thankful that he had told his father the great secret before he had fallen asleep. In a few moments he would commence his journey. Had it been raining long ?

The road was very muddy ; the gutter was overflowing ; the winds were howling ; the sky did not look far away. Never mind ; it would perhaps be finer just now. He felt better now, the sleep had done him good. He would soon overtake him, would obtain employment in Bournemouth, and would be able to maintain his father in comfort. What a delightful prospect ! No more public-houses, no more hard words, no more night-shelters, no more cravings for the happy home that had gone. Perchance she would request some angel to bring down a blessing to her little son. The boy scrambled to his feet, but had to hold on to the wall for support. It was fifteen miles from Kinlet to Bournemouth, but the distance was nothing to him. He leaned against the wall, remained in that posture for a minute or two, and then began his lonely journey.

Step by step did the lad pro ceed, though the old church clock had already struck the first hour of the morning. The road lay alongside the shores of the sea. Every step that he took was a step of pain. The fidelity which we show to any object is not meas ured by our natural resolutions, but by the interest which that object has for us. The inspiration sometimes springs from within, at other times it is communicated to us from without. It was hard to say whether the boy struggled on for sheer love of his father, or for the promise made to her who was no more. The sacrifice of life to him would be less than the sacrifice of a broken vow. He possessed an immense meed of natural resolution, yet his character was easier to mould than an irresolute, stubborn disposition would be. If courage— unostentatious, calm and imperturable — denoted descent from a distinguished ancestry, this boy had come from a noble stock.

When he had dragged his feet to the part of the road that faced the sea-shore, the storm was inspiring in its awful grandeur. Clouds hung at the feet of clouds until they seemed to embrace the waves that urged their own furious courses along. Interminable lines of rain were blown into crosses and crescents by the wind. Heaven's dome was hidden from view by the con flicts of its fiery minions. A ubiquitous mass of water broke out into mountains and valleys, and swept hither and thither in its evolutions of conquest, as if composed of foam and flame. Its liquid bosom swelled aloft as if to do battle with heaven for prizes that were composed of worlds. Now a chain of fire flashed its good-bye aloft as some ship sank to rise no more. A blast of infernal de light rose from the conquering sea as the sailors' cries were hushed for ever.

Liquid stars leaped high above the summits of these terrible mountains, and scattering about like crystals of fire, proceeded to sing the ocean's requiem to the drown ing and the dead. It was not surprising that ships could not live in such a sea, and that a hundred of them were driven into the Downs for shelter. The coast-line presented a beautiful sight, stormed as it was by the fury of nature's despair. Rocks that had braved the storms of a thousand years were torn asunder, and carried away upon crests whose power they had long despised. Sandy plains were covered by the white troops that had once before encircled and conquered the world. Iron-bound coasts were impotent to arrest the progress of the storm. Clouds and liquid mountains rose and fell in an embrace of death; volumes of nature's music swept their harmonies around to com memorate the victories which it had won.

Eternity's em blem was making a gigantic effort to secure its primitive dominion over the world. What a night in which to see a traveller attempting to pursue his journey. Who will dare to say that that lovely boy was not a hero ? His head was hot and dizzy, his swollen temple was a ridge of pain, his knees trembled beneath their load, his feet were sore and weary. His father had gone to Bournemouth, and he was determined to overtake him on the road. He would quicken his pace, perchance his father might not be far ahead. Had he missed his way? he seemed to be on a strange road now. He wished his head were a little steadier, and that he could feel less sick. He was beginning to feel very tired, but that was owing to the dampness of his clothes. He would decrease his speed, perhaps that would help him on.

The roads were in such a muddy state, they had perhaps de layed his progress a little. It was, however, consoling to think that the tempest would have spent its force before the break of day. But his head kept on revolving; he almost thought it became rather worse than better. What funny thoughts were passing through his brain ! Why had his father commenced the journey alone ? Was it because he was afraid his little son could not walk fast enough ? How kind of him to think so. His dizziness was again coming on ; he must really rest for a short time. Why had he fallen asleep at the corner of High Street? He could not collect his thoughts; that sleep had done him an injury. At the distance of every hundred yards were the white washed stones that had once done the work of directing the traveller on his journey.

The little hero sat down on one of these stones to rest or to die. The lad had been delirious all the way; his little frame trembled like an aspen leaf. He was half-a-mile from the nearest habitation, though he could discern it by the lights that were streaming through the window. He had not passed a single person on the road. He had not tasted food for more than eight hours ; ten miles still separated him from the town of Bournemouth. What a brilliant prospect lay before him ! What a noble thing it would be to earn a living for himself and for his father ! His own credulity, his determination to seek his own happiness only in that of his father, his twelve short years of life, his precocious magnanimity, his indifference to pain, were some of the characteristics that made him noble. Though shivering, hungry, his head in a whirl, his temple swollen, ten long miles before him, his thoughts were still directed to the reception which he anticipated in the town of Bournemouth.

Alas ! another half-mile was about to see the termination of his journey. It was now between three and four o'clock in the morning, he could not hope to reach Bournemouth before the break of day. His memory had not been strong since he had left Kinlet; its power was waxing feebler as time wore on. He wished that some kind waggoner would pass that way and give him a ride. Ah ! his ideas were running better now. Who had spoken about knocking him down? Who had been com municating with spectres? Had he been in a dream? What was that swelling behind his temple? Was he really awake? A partial return to consciousness caused the boy to cry, his tears swept the mists from his mind and led him back to a knowledge of the scenes that had just passed away. Would no one help to solve the mystery? Had his father raised his hand to strike ?