LITMIR.BIZ

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the queerness o't, till I am that weak I can hardly go round the

       house. He should have the washing of 'em a few times; I warrant

       'a wouldn't want to eat babies any more!

       [A silence, during which they gaze around at the dark dome of the

       starless sky.]

      YOUNG MAN

       There'll be a change in the weather soon, by the look o't. I can

       hear the cows moo in Froom Valley as if I were close to 'em, and

       the lantern at Max Turnpike is shining quite plain.

      OLD MAN

       Well, come in and taste a drop o' sommat we've got here, that will

       warm the cockles of your heart as ye wamble homealong. We housed

       eighty tuns last night for them that shan't be named—landed at

       Lullwind Cove the night afore, though they had a narrow shave with

       the riding-officers this run.

       [They make toward the hut, when a light on the west horizon becomes

       visible, and quickly enlarges.]

      YOUNG MAN

       He's come!

      OLD MAN

       Come he is, though you do say it! This, then, is the beginning of

       what England's waited for!

       [They stand and watch the light awhile.]

      YOUNG MAN

       Just what you was praising the Lord for by-now, Private Cantle.

      PRIVATE

       My meaning was—-

      WOMAN [simpering]

       Oh that I hadn't married a fiery sojer, to make me bring fatherless

       children into the world, all through his dreadful calling! Why

       didn't a man of no sprawl content me!

      OLD MAN [shouldering his pike]

       We can't heed your innocent pratings any longer, good neighbours,

       being in the King's service, and a hot invasion on. Fall in, fall

       in, mate. Straight to the tinder-box. Quick march!

       [The two men hasten to the hut, and are heard striking a flint

       and steel. Returning with a lit lantern they ignite a blaze.

       The private of the Locals and his wife hastily retreat by the

       light of the flaming beacon, under which the purple rotundities

       of the heath show like bronze, and the pits like the eye-sockets

       of a skull.]

      SPIRIT SINISTER

       This is good, and spells blood. [To the Chorus of the Years.] I

       assume that It means to let us carry out this invasion with pleasing

       slaughter, so as not to disappoint my hope?

      SEMICHORUS I OF THE YEARS [aerial music]

       We carry out? Nay, but should we

       Ordain what bloodshed is to be it!

      SEMICHORUS II

       The Immanent, that urgeth all,

       Rules what may or may not befall!

      SEMICHORUS I

       Ere systemed suns were globed and lit

       The slaughters of the race were writ,

      SEMICHORUS II

       And wasting wars, by land and sea,

       Fixed, like all else, immutably!

      SPIRIT SINISTER

       Well; be it so. My argument is that War makes rattling good

       history; but Peace is poor reading. So I back Bonaparte for

       the reason that he will give pleasure to posterity.

      SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

       Gross hypocrite!

      CHORUS OF THE YEARS

       We comprehend him not.

       [The day breaks over the heathery upland, on which the beacon

       is still burning. The morning reveals the white surface of a

       highway which, coming from the royal watering-place beyond the

       hills, stretched towards the outskirts of the heath and passes

       away eastward.]

      DUMB SHOW

       Moving figures and vehicles dot the surface of the road, all

       progressing in one direction, away from the coast. In the

       foreground the shapes appear as those of civilians, mostly on

       foot, but many in gigs and tradesmen's carts and on horseback.

       When they reach an intermediate hill some pause and look back;

       others enter on the next decline landwards without turning

       their heads.

       From the opposite horizon numerous companies of volunteers, in the

       local uniform of red with green facings,5 are moving coastwards in companies; as are also irregular bodies of pikemen without uniform; while on the upper slopes of the downs towards the shore regiments of the line are visible, with cavalry and artillery; all passing over to the coast. At a signal from the Chief Intelligences two Phantoms of Rumour enter on the highway in the garb of country-men.

      FIRST PHANTOM [to Pedestrians]

       Wither so fast, good neighbours, and before breakfast, too? Empty

       bellies be bad to vamp on.

      FIRST PEDESTRIAN

       He's landed west'ard, out by Abbot's Beach. And if you have property

       you'll save it and yourselves, as we are doing!

      SECOND PEDESTRIAN

       All yesterday the firing at Boulogne

       Was like the seven thunders heard in Heaven

       When the fierce angel spoke. So did he draw

       Full-manned, flat-bottomed for the shallowest shore,

       Dropped down to west, and crossed our frontage here.

       Seen from above they specked the water-shine

       As will a flight of swallows toward dim eve,

       Descending on a smooth and loitering stream

       To seek some eyot's sedge.

      SECOND PHANTOM

       We are sent to enlighten you and ease your soul.

       Even now a courier canters to the port

       To check the baseless scare.

      FIRST PEDESTRIAN

       These be inland men who, I warrant 'ee, don't know a lerret from a

       lighter! Let's take no heed of such, comrade; and hurry on!

      FIRST PHANTOM

       Will you not hear

       That what was seen behind the midnight mist,

       Their oar-blades tossing twinkles to the moon,

       Was but a fleet of fishing-craft belated

       By reason of the vastness of their haul?

      FIRST PEDESTRIAN

       Hey?

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