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Authors: James Hanley

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BOOK: Our Time Is Gone
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Having said this, he retreated backwards and was guided to his seat by a hand that by good fortune alone had steered Mr. Dingley well clear of a lady's lap.

The Mayor rose and approached the table. A short thin man in clerical grey, middle-aged, going bald, with an almost cadaverous-looking skin. He played with a pencil, occasionally hitting the table with it. The crowd sat up now. Silence reigned again. Here was the Mayor of Gelton. Having taken a good look at his audience he commenced to speak.

‘Ladies and gentlemen. Now in this first year of a terrible war, it is my bounden duty to impress upon you the urgent need of every one of us to do our bit. The greatest and the least. This meeting has been called because we must impress you with the supreme importance of one thing. Our Duty.'

‘Hear! Hear!'

‘Hurrah!'

‘Three cheers for the Mayor!'

‘To-night there stands upon the platform representatives of the Army, of the Law and professions, as well as'—pause—‘ahem—as well as, I am proud to say, the elected representatives of the people—I mean the working people. And am I not right in saying that it is the workers who always suffer in war? Therefore I say we must get together'—pause—‘we must unite! You in this hall to-night, you mothers and sweethearts, you sons and brothers, all—all of you will pay a price so heavy, so'—pause—‘so great——'

‘Rubbish!'

‘Silence!'

‘Tommy rot!'

‘Why don't you go and fight?'

‘Get off the bloody platform, and let somebody speak who can.'

‘Give him a chance.'

‘Shut up!'

‘Kick him out.'

When the momentary hubbub died down the Mayor continued, though one glance at the expression on his face showed that this could only be done under the greatest pain and stress.

‘I know we have to think carefully! This war might go on for years'—pause—‘for centuries—er—I mean——Ladies and gentlemen, as Mayor of this great city it was my duty to come and preside at this great meeting. This great drive for men and more men—this great drive for——'

‘And women too,' announced a thin, cracked voice from the body of the hall.

‘This great drive, ladies and gentlemen, has brought here to-night those men who by experience know best what war means. I mean——' The Mayor paused, looked round; the faces on the platform smiled up at him. ‘We must have men! More men! Our very existence is now threatened by the Huns. Our livelihood. Can we stand here and do nothing? Can we sit calmly here to-night and not visualize the horror through which our country is passing? We are a great country. For years and years …' and here the Mayor felt a finger pushing into the small of his back, and the finger seemed to say: ‘What's all this about? You were simply asked to get up and say a few words, a few introductory things about the men on the platform, who whether we like it or not have suddenly assumed an importance it would be suicidal to hold from them.
That
,' the finger seemed to say, ‘is enough! Introduce the next speaker. Mr. Desmond Fury.'

‘Ladies and gentlemen,' went on the Mayor, ‘we are happy to have on our platform to-night one who can rightly say he is a worker. One who has the great cause of the workers at heart. And who has honoured us by electing to speak. I now call upon Captain Desmond Fury, whom we all know. One who has done much to improve the conditions of the workers, and who through his great organizing ability, has been honoured to lead a body of men whose loyalty is not, never
was
, in doubt. Ladies and gentlemen, Captain Desmond Fury.'

For a full minute the roars in the hall were deafening. Then Captain Fury rose.

‘Get down!'

‘Throw him out!'

‘Worker! He's no worker!'

‘Silence.'

‘Chuck him out!'

‘Order! Order!'

‘Bloody turncoat! That's what he is!'

‘Silence—
please
.'

Calmness returned. The big, swarthy-faced man approached the table. When he pressed his large, strong hands palm downwards upon the table and faced his audience, one realized at once that he would speak without pause, without fear, and in the face of all opposition. His powerful figure seemed to have had a most extraordinary effect upon the people on the platform. They looked up at him. A big man—a physical giant. The audience saw his powerful face, those behind him the strength of his back. They saw feet, firmly planted, feet that would not move until the last word had been said.

Captain Fury gave one studious look at the vast audience before him. Then he looked over their heads, looked above and beyond them. He commenced to speak. His voice rang through the hall like a great bell. His body leaned forward, shoulders arched themselves.

‘My Lord Mayor,' he turned to bestow a smile upon the Mayor, and the rest of the assembly, not forgetting his wife. ‘My Lord Mayor, ladies and gentlemen. It is not my purpose here to-night to extol, to castigate, rather is it to appeal. I have done so much of the former'—here he paused to give way to the laughter and little hand-claps—‘but to-night I have felt it my duty to appeal to that body of men and women, whom I have had the honour of knowing, since, ladies and gentlemen, I am one of themselves——'

There was a chorus of cat-calls, but they sailed past Captain Fury's ears.

‘There is no man in this hall to-night, whose cause has not been taken up by me. I have fought for and with them. To-night I appeal to them. They have suddenly become of the greatest importance: overnight as it were. I recognize that this war is a just one. It is one in which everybody is involved. Workers and employers. Lords and commoners. Kings and beggars. We are fighting for Right over Might. To-night I feel it my duty to appeal to the workers of this city to roll up in their thousands, and in their tens of thousands. In the past months I have organized as fine a body of men as the world could ever have. And I organized them because I realized that here lay an unused fund. A fund of energy—a fund whose usefulness was best shown by organization. This body of men has commanded the respect of the country; and so successful has this been that I am happy to say that in the near future I shall proceed to London, there to organize and perfect a body of labour whose importance cannot be estimated. I go further, ladies and gentlemen, and say from conviction and from that knowledge that only comes to one who has himself been a worker——' here he paused again, and this time his ears opened wide to the cheering, the sounds those ears liked best.

He stood erect now, arms folded, always giving the impression that where all this came from, this worthiness or falsity, there was yet much more to come, ‘—one who himself has been and is a worker—and proud to lead such splendid men. I know, my Lord Mayor, that there have been occasions when we have differed, but——'

Pandemonium broke loose. This had only one effect upon Captain Desmond Fury. He stood rigid, fearless, determined. Suddenly he found himself shouting, then roaring, and then he had risen high above the din. Triumphant. Absolutely unassailable. Bumbledom cheered, one waved a tiny Union Jack, one stamped his feet loudly. Hands clapped. Half the audience had risen, some were making gestures that everybody excepting the speaker feared. He was not worried about demonstrations, about riots. He was too used to that sort of thing. It was easy. They were simply sheep. Nothing more, nothing less. He roared at them like a bull. Thumped his fist upon the table.

By this time a good part of the audience were lost to view, hidden behind the clouds of tobacco smoke that rose and hung in the air. He went on and on. He was like a turned-on tap. Compared with the efforts of the previous speaker it was shattering. People fidgeted in their seats, there were whispers amongst the people behind Captain Fury. Mr. Dingley looked at Mrs. Fury and forgot the importance of this occasion, so entranced was he by her charming smile. And how well she dressed.

A charming woman indeed, and what a smile. One of those smiles that meant much more than it really conveyed. And Mr. Dingley stared and stared. From time to time Mrs. Fury looked up at her husband. She was lost in admiration for him. These last months had been revealing ones for her without a doubt. Now she could say with perfect equanimity that she had taken the wisest of all possible courses. No, she could never regret it. She had learned a lot. She smiled up at her husband again, though there was nothing much to see beyond his broad back and towering height that had the effect of shutting off a good deal of the audience.

‘You men in this hall! I appeal to you to come forward and enrol. Be one of the members of this great battalion. I am forming these battalions of workers, all massed together, my friends, in a just cause. Because why?' The table shook under the impact of the powerful fist. ‘Because I am convinced this war is a just war. If you should lose it I can well see the material conditions of the people going down, making a common level with the worst of all possible material conditions—the continental level! That is what it might mean. It
would
mean. Enrol to-night. I appeal to you to enrol. It is my intention to form battalions all over this country, to organize them for the good of this country.' He paused. Was that a swelling of the chest as he added quietly: ‘And the Government are behind me? Yes, the Cause is
your
cause,' and the word ‘
your
' was literally flung into the audience's face.

He was carried away, he went on and on, swimming in the flood of his oratory. Behind him Sir Digby whispered into Mr. Dingley's ear. It looked as though he, Sir Digby, wouldn't get a word in this evening. The man
must
stop soon. He stopped sooner than the worried knight had anticipated, and a most astonishing thing happened.

The audience, a goodly part of them, were rising, turning their backs upon the speaker and making for the doors. It pulled up Captain Fury in his magnificent stride. The audience were not listening, not booing or cheering, not questioning. They were simply moving out of the hall. Captain Fury watched, counted twenty, then thirty people passing out through the doors! This looked like collapse. And more than that. To him, Captain Desmond Fury, the worst of all possible insults. He roared out: ‘Close the doors! Close the doors!' Almost in the same moment that a hand touched him and a voice said softly behind him: ‘Stop! Let Sir Digby speak! He can hold them.'

Not until Sir Digby stood beside him did Captain Fury retire to his seat. In that moment he was glad of the feel of his wife's hand, and he was a delighted child when she smiled approval at him. He found the opportunity to whisper in her ear. ‘I'm more determined than ever now to get out of Gelton.'

‘Of course, darling.'

‘I mean it.'

‘Of course you do, darling. What a shame they wouldn't listen to you! But then …'

‘Then what?' asked Captain Fury.

‘Ssh! Sir Digby is speaking,' she said. ‘Listen to what he has to say.'

And Desmond listened, though he kept thinking of the effect he had had upon the meeting. Um. It was obvious that they hadn't forgotten! The murder case. The case of his brother. Damn the case and damn them. He hadn't forgotten them either. He hadn't forgotten their attitude during the strike. They remembered—but so did he. To hell with them. He was on the move. Nothing could stop him. That was the great thing. Moving. He slapped his knee with his broad hand. Well, here was a fact none could deny. He, Desmond Fury,
Captain
Desmond Fury, was on that platform with the best of them, in spite of them, in spite of everybody. By God he would show them that when he began there was no end. No. No end. Just going on and on and on. He'd get to London. Organize there. Organize, organize, organize. Great battalions of workers. He'd take command. There was nothing to stop a Colonelcy coming along. He looked at his wife. Her attention was entirely devoted to the speaker. Desmond sat back and listened too. Well one of the great things to-night had been just this. They had sat and listened to him. They had
had
to. It pleased him very much.

The speaker who carried on his talk with a spectacular use of the hands had a low musical voice. Desmond Fury was not five minutes listening before he was troubled by an uncomfortable thought. This thought conveyed to him in no uncertain manner, in all its shattering finality, the conviction that between them a gulf was fixed. Like the gulf between Sheila and himself. Yet they were happy, ideally so, they loved each other. But that insufferable gulf remained. What was this gulf? Captain Fury, cursed with the awkwardness that one associates only with the adolescent, would have found it hard to explain. He was intensely conscious of the enormity of that gulf. He was forced to use the word enormous, simply because it had an effect upon him that was more physical than spiritual or mental. It was indeed a habit of his, more noticeable than ever since he had started his ‘climb,' of mentally stimulating himself with the thought that he
was
as good as she was. As good as they were. He saw it clearly. Others saw it in his actions.

If this difference between Sheila and himself, between Sir Digby even, was something one could tread on and crush he would have crushed it long ago, or something one could whisk away, then he would have swept it away. But it only remained a murdering thought. Yes. She
was
different. So was Sir Digby. There was something about even an old fool like Sir Digby that Desmond was jealous of. He couldn't say what it was exactly. Perhaps it was the difference of awkward adolescence and the lucidity of the mature. It worried him! He was even jealous at times. He lost himself in his thoughts, unmindful of the fact that Sir Digby had indeed ‘stopped the rot.' No audience, at least what remained of it, could have been more peaceful and contented.

Mrs. Fury leaned towards Desmond. ‘You're tired,' she said, and he felt her gloved hand in his own.

BOOK: Our Time Is Gone
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