Lavengro by George Borrow (read me a book txt) 📕

hands, which I had placed by chance upon the table, he became suddenly still.

This was my left hand, which was raw and swollen, from the blows dealt on a certain hard skull in a recent combat. “What do you mean by staring at my hand so?” said I, withdrawing it from the table.

“No offence, young man, no offence,” said the landlord, in a quite altered tone; “but the sight of your hand⁠—,” then observing that our conversation began to attract the notice of the guests in the kitchen, he interrupted himself, saying in an undertone: “But mum’s the word for the present, I will go and fetch the ale.”

In about a minute he returned, with a jug of ale foaming high. “Here’s your health,” said he, blowing off the foam, and drinking; but perceiving that I looked rather dissatisfied, he murmured: “All’s right, I glory in you; but mum’s the word.” Then placing the jug on the table, he gave me a confidential nod, and swaggered out of the room.

What can the silly, impertinent fellow mean, thought I; but the ale was now before me, and I hastened to drink, for my weakness was great, and my mind was full of dark thoughts, the remains of the indescribable horror of the preceding night. It may kill me, thought I, as I drank deep, but who cares, anything is better than what I have suffered. I drank deep, and then leaned back against the wall; it appeared as if a vapour was stealing up into my brain, gentle and benign, soothing and stilling the horror and the fear; higher and higher it mounted, and I felt nearly overcome; but the sensation was delicious, compared with that I had lately experienced, and now I felt myself nodding; and bending down I laid my head on the table on my folded hands.

And in that attitude I remained some time, perfectly unconscious. At length, by degrees, perception returned, and I lifted up my head. I felt somewhat dizzy and bewildered, but the dark shadow had withdrawn itself from me. And now, once more, I drank of the jug; this second draught did not produce an overpowering effect upon me⁠—it revived and strengthened me. I felt a new man.

I looked around me: the kitchen had been deserted by the greater part of the guests; besides myself, only four remained; these were seated at the farther end. One was haranguing fiercely and eagerly; he was abusing England, and praising America. At last he exclaimed: “So when I gets to New York, I will toss up my hat, and damn the King.”

That man must be a Radical, thought I.

LXXXVIII

The individual whom I supposed to be a radical, after a short pause, again uplifted his voice: he was rather a strong-built fellow of about thirty, with an ill-favoured countenance, a white hat on his head, a snuff-coloured coat on his back, and, when he was not speaking, a pipe in his mouth. “Who would live in such a country as England?” he shouted.

“There is no country like America,” said his nearest neighbour, a man also in a white hat, and of a very ill-favoured countenance, “there is no country like America,” said he, withdrawing a pipe from his mouth; “I think I shall”⁠—and here he took a draught from a jug, the contents of which he appeared to have in common with the other⁠—“go to America one of these days myself.”

“Poor old England is not such a bad country, after all,” said a third, a simple-looking man in a labouring dress, who sat smoking a pipe without anything before him. “If there was but a little more work to be got, I should have nothing to say against her. I hope, however⁠—”

“You hope, who cares what you hope?” interrupted the first, in a savage tone; “you are one of those sneaking hounds who are satisfied with dog’s wages, a bit of bread and a kick. Work, indeed! who, with the spirit of a man, would work for a country where there is neither liberty of speech, nor of action? a land full of beggarly aristocracy, hungry borough-mongers, insolent parsons, and ‘their ⸻ wives and daughters,’ as William Cobbett says, in his Register.”

“Ah, the Church of England has been a source of incalculable mischief to these realms,” said another.

The person who uttered these words sat rather aloof from the rest; he was dressed in a long black surtout.204 I could not see much of his face, partly owing to his keeping it very much directed to the ground, and partly owing to a large slouched hat, which he wore; I observed, however, that his hair was of a reddish tinge. On the table near him was a glass and spoon.

“You are quite right,” said the first, alluding to what this last had said, “the Church of England has done incalculable mischief here. I value no religion three halfpence, for I believe in none; but the one that I hate most is the Church of England; so when I get to New York, after I have shown the fine fellows on the quay a spice of me, by ⸻ the King, I’ll toss up my hat again, and ⸻ the Church of England too.”

“And suppose the people of New York should clap you in the stocks?” said I.

These words drew upon me the attention of the whole four. The radical and his companion stared at me ferociously; the man in black gave me a peculiar glance from under his slouched hat; the simple-looking man in the labouring dress laughed.

“What are you laughing at, you fool?” said the radical, turning and looking at the other, who appeared to be afraid of him, “hold your noise; and a pretty fellow, you,” said he, looking at me, “to come here, and speak against the great American nation.”

“I speak against the great American nation?” said I, “I rather paid them a compliment.”

“By supposing they would