Sybil: Or, the Two Nations by Benjamin Disraeli

Author:Benjamin Disraeli
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Landlord and tenant -- Fiction, Political fiction, Poor families -- Fiction, Social classes -- Fiction, Rich people -- Fiction, England -- Fiction, Chartism -- Fiction, Love stories
Publisher: Standard Ebooks
Published: 2018-09-07T22:16:36+00:00

IV

It was night: clear and se­rene, though the moon had not ris­en; and a vast con­course of per­sons were as­sem­bling on Mow­bray Moor. The chief gath­er­ing col­lec­ted in the vi­cin­ity of some huge rocks, one of which, pree­m­in­ent above its fel­lows, and hav­ing a broad flat head, on which some twenty per­sons might eas­ily stand at the same time, was called the Druid’s Al­tar. The ground about was strewn with stony frag­ments, covered to­night with hu­man be­ings, who found a con­veni­ent rest­ing-place amid these ru­ins of some an­cient temple or rel­ics of some an­cient world. The shad­owy con­course in­creased, the dim circle of the noc­turn­al as­semblage each mo­ment spread and widened; there was the hum and stir of many thou­sands. Sud­denly in the dis­tance the sound of mar­tial mu­sic: and in­stantly, quick as the light­ning and far more wild, each per­son present bran­dished a flam­ing torch, amid a chor­us of cheers, that, re­newed and re­sound­ing, floated far away over the broad bos­om of the dusk wil­der­ness.

The mu­sic and the ban­ners de­noted the ar­rival of the lead­ers of the people. They moun­ted the craggy as­cent that led to the sum­mit of the Druid’s Al­tar, and there, sur­roun­ded by his com­pan­ions, amid the en­thu­si­ast­ic shouts of the mul­ti­tude, Wal­ter Ger­ard came forth to ad­dress a torch­light meet­ing.

His tall form seemed co­lossal in the un­cer­tain and flick­er­ing light, his rich and power­ful voice reached al­most to the ut­most lim­it of his vast audi­ence, now still with ex­pect­a­tion and si­lent with ex­cite­ment. Their fixed and eager glance, the mouth com­pressed with fierce res­ol­u­tion or dis­ten­ded by nov­el sym­pathy, as they listened to the ex­pos­i­tion of their wrongs, and the vin­dic­a­tion of the sac­red rights of la­bour—the shouts and wav­ing of the torches as some bright or bold phrase touched them to the quick—the cause, the hour, the scene—all com­bined to render the as­semblage in a high de­gree ex­cit­ing.

“I won­der if Warner will speak to­night,” said Dandy Mick to Dev­ils­dust.

“He can’t pitch it in like Ger­ard,” replied his com­pan­ion.

“But he is a trump in the tender,” said the Dandy. “The Hand­looms looks to him as their man, and that’s a power­ful sec­tion.”

“If you come to the depth of a ques­tion, there’s noth­ing like Steph­en Mor­ley,” said Dev­ils­dust. “ ’Twould take six cler­gy­men any day to settle him. He knows the prin­ciples of so­ci­ety by heart. But Ger­ard gets hold of the pas­sions.”

“And that’s the way to do the trick,” said Dandy Mick. “I wish he would say march, and no mis­take.”

“There is a great deal to do be­fore say­ing that,” said Dev­ils­dust. “We must have dis­cus­sion, be­cause when it comes to reas­on­ing, the ol­ig­archs have not got a leg to stand on; and we must stop the con­sump­tion of ex­ciseable art­icles, and when they have no tin to pay the bay­on­ets and their b——y po­lice, they are dished.”

“You have a long head, Dusty,” said Mick.

“Why I have been think­ing of it ever since I knew two and two made four,” said his friend. “I was not

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