Limanora the island of progress
subjection. Even the aristocratic and refined Aleofane with its subtle
government and all-powerful central institutions had to bow its neck
to the yoke. This strange romance had been enacting for more than
a decade; and the Limanorans had been watching it, at first with
amusement, and afterwards with resolution and clear purpose. They
knew the whole of this subjugative process was based on hypocrisy and
injustice and bloodshed, but it was not worse than the methods of
political existence it displaced; it only meant the substitution of one
vicious ideal for others as vicious. There would be more movement and
activity for a time, but as soon as the masterful will had vanished,
there would be a quick return to the old lazy luxury in the few and
lazy misery in the many. It had cost multitudes of lives, and would
cost many more before the military mania had burned itself out; but
of what worth were most of those lives to themselves or to the world?
They succeeded, where they did succeed, only in sustaining themselves
wretchedly and perpetuating a strain of existence that was, if changed
at all, tending downwards. The new spectacle was more sanguinary, but
not one whit more dismal than the ones the Limanorans had witnessed
for many generations. The misery was irremediable, the standard of
existence was so low. To fence it off like a plague was all that could
be done.
When I sat down to the idrovamolan I soon discovered the master of
this transformation scene. I heard in Broolyi from all the entrenched
camps and the towns loud huzzas and cries of “Long live Choktroo!”
Turning the line of sight to the capital, the conflagration of cries
which swept the crowded streets soon led my eye to the centre of the
far-reaching magnetic thrill, the square of the imperial palace. There
I saw step out on a balcony and bow to the enthusiastic populace
a little firm-set figure that seemed to awaken memories in me. I
strengthened the power of vision in order to examine the face more
keenly, and, as a great burst of “Long live our emperor! Long live
Choktroo!” kindled and blazed athwart the city, the identity of the
little conqueror broke upon my consciousness.
It was my cabin-boy, Jock Drew, whom I had rescued from a life of
degradation, if not ultimate infamy, in his native village. His father,
the local chimney-sweep, a man of vigorous but small physique, had
succumbed to the fate of so many of his trade, and swept his throat
hourly with the fiercest of whiskey. His mother, a brave, strong little
peasant girl, had died early of the effort to master this thirsty
piece of humanity that had been tied to her, and his vice. The boy
had the maternal lines in his nature, strong will, great courage,
and fiery passion. It stirred my pity to see him struggle with such
a mean destiny, doubtless to sink hopelessly into the ditch. He had
been shielding himself from the temptation that his drunken father
set before him by living in a world of penny romance. His imagination
was strung to its highest pitch by the gory pages of his hard-won
treasures. When he heard of my proposed expedition to the other side of
the world, he came and pleaded for even the most menial position on
board the _Daydream_. I was only too eager to rescue him from the
hideous fate before him, and engaged him as cabin-boy.
After he came on board, some of the men were inclined to patronise
him, and, when he resisted their approaches and grew sulky, to apply
a rope’s end to him. I had to stand between him and them, even though
I saw that in the end he would have the best of the quarrel; for
he was strong of build and violent in temper, and only controlled
himself, I could see, that he might have the surer and more complete
revenge. He was a solitary, musing boy, and I thought to draw him
from his solitude by interesting him in scientific and philosophical
books; but he returned with the greater gusto to his penny series of
lives of the great pirates, robbers, warriors, and conquerors. The
only section of the _Daydream’s_ library which could seduce him
from his loved studies was that containing history and adventures.
The crew, as was natural, held the studious little recluse too cheap;
and occasionally felt the sting of his tongue when they bantered him;
but his melodramatic manners and attitude, copied from the coloured
representations of his heroes in his favourite series, laid him open
again to their laughter and scorn. His mind was unwholesome with
brooding over gory achievements and tremendous ambitions. He often
uttered absurd boasts and gave himself airs that were incongruous
with his minute figure and menial position, and Jock Drew ceased to
be the butt of the ship only when I was present; but he never ceased
to read and meditate. The laughter of his shipmates drove him more
and more into his books and into himself. Later on in the voyage he
extended his reading to books on naval architecture and the management
of the steam-engine, and at last would spend hours assisting the
engineer below. He came to know every part of the machinery and every
secret of its construction and management. Indeed, the chief engineer
acknowledged that in case of his illness he had an able successor on
board. The guns and all the ironwork of the ship drew his attention
next, and he came to be respected for his practical knowledge of every
part; when anything needed mending, it was he who was ultimately called
in to give advice or aid. Slowly he rose to be the real master of the
_Daydream_, even though he continued to be laughed at for his
heromimic airs and his occasional boasts. He had by his reading and
studies made himself essential to every man on board, and his strong
will exacted outward respect, if not obedience to him, in return. It
was strange to see the revolution in the ship’s crew during their
voyaging about the archipelago. When I came on board again, I saw that,
though they continued a semblance of their old bantering, they had in
their hearts begun to bow before the boy of twenty. The very gall of
their scorn and of his menial position had driven him into this slow
but striking revolt.
And here I saw the result. His boyhood, neglected and beaten, had
given the cunning and worldly wisdom and concentration of power that
belong in most to late maturity. The strength that had lain dormant
for so many centuries in his mother’s peasant race had gathered in him
like a torrent. The hard conditions of his youth had reined in the
wildness and animality which had run riot in his father’s debauchery.
Hundreds of such masterful natures, finding no sphere in their native
locality to give scope to the long-dammed-up powers of their race,
waste themselves in chafing against their petty surroundings and die
with the reputation of miniature devils. The focussed energy of two
long-suppressed races had in this case found its career and scope, and
a diabolic conflagration was the consequence in this isolated region of
the world. The race of Jock Drew had never before blossomed; now that
it had found the fit soil, it had flowered portentously.
The misfortune was that his ill-moulded youth and his favourite
reading had left him naked of morality. He was not in this respect
much worse than the people whom he misled into war or than those whom
he subjugated. He had only more concentrated will and energy and a
keener appreciation of the means that would best satisfy his appetite
for power. The complete suppression of the desire through thousands
of years of his peasant ancestry made its ultimate manifestation on
finding freedom of action all the more tremendous. It grew with growing
self-confidence; and confidence grew with success. His bearing wholly
altered during the wanderings of the _Daydream_ before I had
abandoned her. He had grown erect and threw his great chest out and
held his large head up till he overawed his persecutors. Seeing him
only in a sitting position or looking only at his bust one would have
guessed him to be of lofty stature. Yet like his father and mother
he never rose above five feet in height; and as his face filled up
with good fare and the knowledge of his own powers it grew handsome
and calm, seldom showing the fierce brute slumbering underneath. His
wonderful self-control and reserve held him silent in circumstances
where speech or action would have revealed his innate folly or
animality, and he learned the power of such reserve, allied with
sudden and decisive action, over the wills of others; he saw that it
throws an air of mystery round the individuality. So he refrained
from action till he had complete control of the circumstances and had
gathered such resources into his hands as would astonish his rivals or
enemies; silently, unscrupulously, he got to know the cards they held
in their hands, whilst he concealed his own under seeming inaction;
then with a sudden and unnerving move he threw all his forces upon them
and demoralised them. I had watched the method in the little intrigues
and conspiracies on shipboard, and I knew when I observed him through
the idrovamolan that he was the same Jock Drew, only more developed by
his astonishing successes.
He had found his opportunity when the _Daydream_ finally anchored
in the chief harbour of Broolyi. There was much need of government
after the plague; the monarch and his family had fled and finally
perished; and the two rivals for the position were almost equally
matched. There was prospect of a long civil war. The wiser and stronger
counsellors set up a republic, but this was only a feeble stop-gap. The
flames of civil war burst out in spite of it.
Jock arrived at this stage of their history, and joined the staff of
the competitor for the throne who held the capital and the key of the
public treasury. He rapidly became prime adviser in the camp, and as
soon as he had attracted confidence in himself and his character he
set his method to work. He led an army out to attack the enemy, and
completely routed them by the suddenness of his action; he had led one
half of his troops straight out to meet the forces opposed to him, but
he had sent the others round by a secret path into their rear, and they
burst simultaneously upon the enemy. The surprise broke the spirit of
the attacked and they fled in rout.
With wily stratagem he incited other officers to rival him, and took
care that they went out under disadvantageous conditions. They failed,
and their failures led to loud demands for Choktroo, as he came to be
called. He now got command of the whole of the resources of the state,
and used them for the making of guns and other surprises for the enemy.
Meanwhile he allowed the enemy to think that his party was wholly
demoralised by defeats, and they crept up towards the walls of the
city in their excess of confidence. He knew by his spies in their camp
how vainglorious they had become; but he allowed their bravado to rise
to the pitch of foolhardiness, and then, his preparations being made,
he opened fire upon them, from all sides. So complete was the rout,
that the enemy disappeared from the country around and took refuge in
distant castles and forts.
His name grew into a power of itself, rousing enthusiasm wherever
he appeared and greatly terrifying his opponents. It was then that
there began the most striking part of his career. All the brave and
able generals who during the civil war had come up from the ranks
were completely in his power. He sent them out to master castles or
detachments of the enemy, but with such imperfect forces or supplies
as would render them inactive. Their individual talents snatched
occasional small victories, but as a rule they only prepared for
ultimate victory by raising entrenchments and scouring the country