When the Sleeper Wakes Read online

  CHAPTER IX. THE PEOPLE MARCH

  He became aware of someone urging a glass of clear fluid upon hisattention, looked up and discovered this was a dark young man in ayellow garment. He took the dose forthwith, and in a moment he wasglowing. A tall man in a black robe stood by his shoulder, and pointedto the half open door into the hall. This man was shouting close tohis ear and yet what was said was indistinct because of the tremendousuproar from the great theatre. Behind the man was a girl in a silverygrey robe, whom Graham, even in this confusion, perceived to bebeautiful. Her dark eyes, full of wonder and curiosity, were fixed onhim, her lips trembled apart. A partially opened door gave a glimpseof the crowded hall, and admitted a vast uneven tumult, a hammering,clapping and shouting that died away and began again, and rose to athunderous pitch, and so continued intermittently all the time thatGraham remained in the little room. He watched the lips of the man inblack and gathered that he was making some clumsy explanation.

  He stared stupidly for some moments at these things and then stood upabruptly; he grasped the arm of this shouting person.

  "Tell me!" he cried. "Who am I? Who am I?"

  The others came nearer to hear his words. "Who am I?" His eyes searchedtheir faces.

  "They have told him nothing!" cried the girl.

  "Tell me, tell me!" cried Graham.

  "You are the Master of the Earth. You are owner of half the world."

  He did not believe he heard aright. He resisted the persuasion. Hepretended not to understand, not to hear. He lifted his voice again. "Ihave been awake three days--a prisoner three days. I judge there is somestruggle between a number of people in this city--it is London?"

  "Yes," said the younger man.

  "And those who meet in the great hall with the white Atlas? How does itconcern me? In some way it has to do with me. Why, I don't know. Drugs?It seems to me that while I have slept the world has gone mad. I havegone mad."

  "Who are those Councillors under the Atlas? Why should they try to drugme?"

  "To keep you insensible," said the man in yellow.

  "To prevent your interference."

  "But _why?_"

  "Because _you_ are the Atlas, Sire," said the man in yellow. "The worldis on your shoulders. They rule it in your name."

  The sounds from the hall had died into a silence threaded by onemonotonous voice. Now suddenly, trampling on these last words, camea deafening tumult, a roaring and thundering, cheer crowded on cheer,voices hoarse and shrill, beating, overlapping, and while it lasted thepeople in the little room could not hear each other shout.

  Graham stood, his intelligence clinging helplessly to the thing he hadjust heard. "The Council," he repeated blankly, and then snatched at aname that had struck him. "But who is Ostrog?" he said.

  "He is the organiser--the organiser of the revolt. Our Leader--in yourname."

  "In my name?--And you? Why is he not here?"

  "He--has deputed us. I am his brother--his half-brother, Lincoln. Hewants you to show yourself to these people and then come on to him. Thatis why he has sent. He is at the wind-vane offices directing. The peopleare marching."

  "In your name," shouted the younger man. "They have ruled, crushed,tyrannised. At last even--"

  "In my name! My name! Master?"

  The younger man suddenly became audible in a pause of the outer thunder,indignant and vociferous, a high penetrating voice under his redaquiline nose and bushy moustache. "No one expected you to wake. No oneexpected you to wake. They were cunning. Damned tyrants! But they weretaken by surprise. They did not know whether to drug you, hypnotise you,kill you."

  Again the hall dominated everything.

  "Ostrog is at the wind-vane offices ready--. Even now there is a rumourof fighting beginning."

  The man who had called himself Lincoln came close to him. "Ostrog has itplanned. Trust him. We have our organisations ready. We shall seize theflying stages--. Even now he may be doing that. Then--"

  "This public theatre," bawled the man in yellow, "is only a contingent.We have five myriads of drilled men--"

  "We have arms," cried Lincoln. "We have plans. A leader. Their policehave gone from the streets and are massed in the--" (inaudible). "Itis now or never. The Council is rocking--They cannot trust even theirdrilled men--"

  "Hear the people calling to you!"

  Graham's mind was like a night of moon and swift clouds, now dark andhopeless, now clear and ghastly. He was Master of the Earth, he was aman sodden with thawing snow. Of all his fluctuating impressions thedominant ones presented an antagonism; on the one hand was the WhiteCouncil, powerful, disciplined, few, the White Council from which hehad just escaped; and on the other, monstrous crowds, packed masses ofindistinguishable people clamouring his name, hailing him Master.The other side had imprisoned him, debated his death. These shoutingthousands beyond the little doorway had rescued him. But why thesethings should be so he could not understand.

  The door opened, Lincoln's voice was swept away and drowned, and a rushof people followed on the heels of the tumult. These intruders cametowards him and Lincoln gesticulating. The voices without explainedtheir soundless lips. "Show us the Sleeper, show us the Sleeper!" wasthe burden of the uproar Men were bawling for "Order! Silence!"

  Graham glanced towards the open doorway, and saw a tall, oblong pictureof the hall beyond, a waving, incessant confusion of crowded, shoutingfaces, men and women together, waving pale blue garments, extendedhands. Many were standing, one man in rags of dark brown, a gauntfigure, stood on the seat and waved a black cloth. He met the wonder andexpectation of the girl's eyes. What did these people expect from him.He was dimly aware that the tumult outside had changed its character,was in some way beating, marching. His own mind, too, changed for aspace he did not recognise the influence that was transforming him.But a moment that was near to panic passed. He tried to make audibleinquiries of what was required of him.

  Lincoln was shouting in his ear, but Graham was deafened to that. Allthe others save the woman gesticulated towards the hall. He perceivedwhat had happened to the uproar. The whole mass of people was chantingtogether. It was not simply a song, the voices were gathered togetherand upborne by a torrent of instrumental music, music like the music ofan organ, a woven texture of sounds, full of trumpets, full of flauntingbanners, full of the march and pageantry of opening war. And the feet ofthe people were beating time--tramp, tramp.

  He was urged towards the door. He obeyed mechanically. The strengthof that chant took hold of him, stirred him, emboldened him. The hallopened to him, a vast welter of fluttering colour swaying to the music.

  "Wave your arm to them," said Lincoln. "Wave your arm to them."

  "This," said a voice on the other side, "he must have this." Arms wereabout his neck detaining him in the doorway, and a black subtly-foldingmantle hung from his shoulders. He threw his arm free of this andfollowed Lincoln. He perceived the girl in grey close to him, her facelit, her gesture onward. For the instant she became to him, flushed andeager as she was, an embodiment of the song. He emerged in the alcoveagain. Incontinently the mounting waves of the song broke upon hisappearing, and flashed up into a foam of shouting. Guided by Lincoln'shand he marched obliquely across the centre of the stage facing thepeople.

  The hall was a vast and intricate space--galleries, balconies, broadspaces of amphitheatral steps, and great archways. Far away, high up,seemed the mouth of a huge passage full of struggling humanity. Thewhole multitude was swaying in congested masses. Individual figuressprang out of the tumult, impressed him momentarily, and lost definitionagain. Close to the platform swayed a beautiful fair woman, carried bythree men, her hair across her face and brandishing a green staff. Nextthis group an old careworn man in blue canvas maintained his place inthe crush with difficulty, and behind shouted a hairless face, agreat cavity of toothless mouth. A voice called that enigmatical word"Ostrog." All his impressions were vague save the massive emotionof that trampling song. The multitude were beating time with their
feet--marking time, tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp. The green weapons waved,flashed and slanted. Then he saw those nearest to him on a level spacebefore the stage were marching in front of him, passing towards a greatarchway, shouting "To the Council!" Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp. Heraised his arm, and the roaring was redoubled. He remembered he had toshout "March!" His mouth shaped inaudible heroic words. He waved his armagain and pointed to the archway, shouting "Onward!" They were no longermarking time, they were marching; tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp. In thathost were bearded men, old men, youths, fluttering robed bare-armedwomen, girls. Men and women of the new age! Rich robes, grey ragsfluttered together in the whirl of their movement amidst the dominantblue. A monstrous black banner jerked its way to the right. He perceiveda blue-clad negro, a shrivelled woman in yellow, then a group of tallfair-haired, white-faced, blue-clad men pushed theatrically past him.He noted two Chinamen. A tall, sallow, dark-haired, shining-eyed youth,white clad from top to toe, clambered up towards the platform shoutingloyally, and sprang down again and receded, looking backward. Heads,shoulders, hands clutching weapons, all were swinging with thosemarching cadences.

  Faces came out of the confusion to him as he stood there, eyes met hisand passed and vanished. Men gesticulated to him, shouted inaudiblepersonal things. Most of the faces were flushed, but many were ghastlywhite. And disease was there, and many a hand that waved to him wasgaunt and lean. Men and women of the new age! Strange and incrediblemeeting! As the broad stream passed before him to the right, tributarygangways from the remote uplands of the hall thrust downward in anincessant replacement of people; tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp. The unisonof the song was enriched and complicated by the massive echoes of archesand passages. Men and women mingled in the ranks; tramp, tramp, tramp,tramp. The whole world seemed marching. Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp; hisbrain was tramping. The garments waved onward, the faces poured by moreabundantly.

  Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp; at Lincoln's pressure he turned towards thearchway, walking unconsciously in that rhythm, scarcely noticing hismovement for the melody and stir of it. The multitude, the gesture andsong, all moved in that direction, the flow of people smote downwarduntil the upturned faces were below the level of his feet. He was awareof a path before him, of a suite about him, of guards and dignities, andLincoln on his right hand. Attendants intervened, and ever and againblotted out the sight of the multitude to the left. Before him went thebacks of the guards in black--three and three and three. He was marchedalong a little railed way, and crossed above the archway, with thetorrent dipping to flow beneath, and shouting up to him. He did notknow whither he went; he did not want to know. He glanced back across aflaming spaciousness of hall. Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp.