The Revolt of Man

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!

CHAPTER XIII

THE NIGHT BEFORE THE BATTLE

IT was evening when the rebel leader stood upon the heights of Hampstead and looked before him, by the light of the setting sun, upon the hazy and indistinct mass of the great city which he was come to conquer. Behind him his ten thousand men, with twice ten thousand followers, were erecting their tents and setting up the camp with a mighty bustle, noise, and clamour. Yet there was no confusion. Thanks to the administrative capacity of Algy Dunquerque, all was done in order. The Professor, who had left her carriage, stood beside Lord Chester. He was dismounted, and, with the aid of a glass, was trying to make out familiar towers in the golden mist that rested upon the great city.

‘So far, my lord, we have sped well,’ she said softly.

He started at her voice.

‘Well, indeed, my dear Professor,’ he replied. ‘I would to-morrow were over.’

‘Fear not; your men will answer to your call.’

‘I do not fear. They are brave fellows. Yet – to think that their blood must be spilt!’

‘There spoke Lord Chester of the past, not the gallant Prince of the present. Why, what if a few hundreds of dead men strew this field to-morrow provided the Right prevails? Of what good is a man’s life to him, if he does not give it for the sacred cause? To give a life – why, it is to lend a thing; to hasten the slow course of time; to make the soul take at a single leap the immortality which comes to others so slowly. Fear not for the blood of martyrs, my lord.’

‘You always cheer and comfort me, Professor.’

‘It is because I am a woman,’ she replied. ‘Let me fulfil the highest function of my sex.’

They were interrupted by an aide-de-camp, who came galloping across the Heath.

‘From Captain Dunquerque, my lord,’ he began. ‘The Convict Wardens are encamped in force in Hyde Park; they number ten thousand, and have got thirty guns; they march to-morrow morning.’

‘Very good,’ said the Chief; and the young officer fell back.

‘Ten thousand strong!’ said the Professor. ‘Then they have left the prisons almost without a guard. When these are dispersed, where will they find a new army? They are delivered into your hands.’

Hampstead Heath may be approached by two or three roads: there is the direct road up Haverstock Hill; or there is the way by the Gospel Oak and the Vale of Health; or, again, there is the road from the north, or that from Highgate. But the way by which the Convict Wardens would march from Hyde Park was most certainly that of Haverstock Hill; and they would emerge upon the Heath by one of the narrow roads known as Holly Hill, Heath Street, and the Grove, – probably by all three. Or they might attempt the upper part of the Heath by the Vale of Health.

The plan of battle was agreed to with very little debate, because it was simple.

The cannon, loaded with grape-shot and masked by bushes, were drawn up to command these three streets.

Behind the cannon the Guards were to lie, ready to spring to their feet and send in a volley after the first discharge of grape-shot.

The cavalry were to be posted among the trees, on the spot called after a once famous tavern which formerly stood there – Jack Straw’s Castle; the infantry, now divided into five battalions, each two thousand strong, were to lie in their places behind the Guards. These simple arrangements made, the Chief rode into the camp to encourage the men.

They needed little encouragement; the men were in excellent spirits; the news that they would have to fight those enemies of mankind, the Convict Wardens, filled them with joy. Not one among them all but had some friend, some relation, immured within the gloomy prisons, for disobedience, mutiny, or violence; some had themselves experienced the rigours of imprisonment, and the tender mercies of the ruffians who were allowed to maintain discipline with rod and lash, rifle and bayonet. These were the men who were coming out to shoot them down! Very good; they should see.

Lord Chester and his Staff rode about the camp, making speeches, cheering the men, drinking with them, and encouraging them. Their liberties, he told them, were in their own hand: one victory, and the cause was won. Then he inspired them with contempt as well as hatred for their opponents. They were men who could shoot down a flying prisoner, but had never stood face to face with a foe: they were coming out, expecting to find a meek herd, who would fly at the first shot; in their place they would meet an army of Englishmen. The men shouted and cheered: their spirit was up. And later on, about ten o’clock, a strange thing happened. No one ever knew how it began, or who set it going; but from man to man the word was passed. Then all the army rose to their feet, and shouted for joy; then the company of girls came, and shed tears among them, but for joy; and some, including the girl they had called Susan, fell upon the necks of their old sweethearts, and kissed them, bidding them be brave, and fight like men; and those who were old men wept, because this good thing had come too late for them.

For the word was – Divorce!

The young men, they said, were to abandon the wives they had been forced to marry. With Victory they were to win Love!

It was about ten o’clock when Lord Chester sought the Bishop’s tent. He had just concluded an Evening Service, and was sitting with his wife, his daughters, and Clarence Veysey.

With the Chief came Algernon Dunquerque.

‘We are here,’ said Lord Chester, ‘for a few words – it may be of farewell. My Lord Bishop, are you contented with your pupils?’

‘I give you all,’ he said solemnly, ‘my blessing. Go on and prosper. But as we may fail and so die, because victory is not of man, let those who have aught to say to each other say it now.’

Algernon spoke first, though all looked at each other.

‘I love your daughter Faith. Give us your consent, my Lord Bishop, before we go out to fight.’

The Bishop took the girl by the hand, and gave her to the young man, saying, ‘Blessed be thou, O my daughter!’

Then Clarence Veysey spoke likewise, and asked for Grace; and with such words did the father give her to him.

‘Now,’ said Algernon, ‘there needs no more. If we fall, we fall together.’

‘Yes,’ said Grace quietly, ‘we should not survive the cause.’

‘I hope,’ said Lord Chester, smiling gravely, ‘that one of you will live at least long enough to take my last message to Lady Carlyon. You will tell her, Grace, or you, my dear Professor, that my last thought was for her.’ But as he spoke the curtain of the tent was pulled aside, and Constance herself stood before them.

She was pale, and tears were in her eyes. She wore a riding-habit; but it was covered with dust.

‘Edward!’ she cried. ‘Fly … fly … while there is time! All of you fly!’

‘What is it, Constance? How came you here?’

‘I came because I can bear it no longer. I came to warn you, and to help your escape, if that may be. The Duchess has issued a warrant for my arrest, – for High Treason: that is nothing,’ with a proud gesture. ‘They will say I ran away from the warrant: that is false. Edward, your life is gone unless you are twenty miles from London to-morrow!’

‘Come, Constance,’ said the Professor, ‘you are hot and tired. Rest a little; drink some water; take breath. We are prepared, I think, for all that you can tell us.’

‘Oh, no!.. no!.. you cannot be. Listen! They have ten thousand Convict Wardens in Hyde Park …’

‘We know this,’ said Algernon.

‘Who will attack you to-morrow.’

‘We know this too.’

‘Their orders are to shoot down all without parley; all – do you hear? – who are found with arms. The Chiefs are to be taken to the Tower!’ she shuddered.

‘We know all this, Constance,’ said Lord Chester.

‘You know it! and you can look unconcerned?’

‘Not unconcerned entirely, but resigned perhaps, and even hopeful.’

‘Edward, what can you do?’

‘If they have orders to shoot all who do not fly, my men, for their part, have orders not to fly, but to shoot all who stand in their way.’

‘Your men? Poor farm-labourers! what can they do?’

‘Wait till morning, Constance, and you shall see. Is there anything else you can tell me?’

‘Yes. After the Wardens have dispersed the rebels, the Horse Guards are to be ordered out to ride them down.’