away; the continuous rain closing in the daylight
even earlier than usual, and adding to the dreariness,
with the natural accompaniments of wailing winds, coming
with long sweeps over the moors, and making the sobbings
at the windows that always sound like the gasps of
some one in great agony. Meanwhile Philip had
hastened back to Monkshaven. He had no umbrella,
he had to face the driving rain for the greater part
of the way; but he was thankful to the weather, for
it kept men indoors, and he wanted to meet no one,
but to have time to think and mature his plans.
The town itself was, so to speak, in mourning.
The rescue of the sailors was a distinctly popular
movement; the subsequent violence (which had, indeed,
gone much further than has been described, after Daniel
left it) was, in general, considered as only a kind
of due punishment inflicted in wild justice on the
press-gang and their abettors. The feeling of
the Monkshaven people was, therefore, in decided opposition
to the vigorous steps taken by the county magistrates,
who, in consequence of an appeal from the naval officers
in charge of the impressment service, had called out
the militia (from a distant and inland county) stationed
within a few miles, and had thus summarily quenched
the riots that were continuing on the Sunday morning
after a somewhat languid fashion; the greater part
of the destruction of property having been accomplished
during the previous night. Still there was little
doubt but that the violence would have been renewed
as evening drew on, and the more desperate part of
the population and the enraged sailors had had the
Sabbath leisure to brood over their wrongs, and to
encourage each other in a passionate attempt at redress,
or revenge. So the authorities were quite justified
in the decided steps they had taken, both in their
own estimation then, and now, in ours, looking back
on the affair in cold blood. But at the time
feeling ran strongly against them; and all means of
expressing itself in action being prevented, men brooded
sullenly in their own houses. Philip, as the
representative of the family, the head of which was
now suffering for his deeds in the popular cause, would
have met with more sympathy, ay, and more respect than
he imagined, as he went along the streets, glancing
from side to side, fearful of meeting some who would
shy him as the relation of one who had been ignominiously
taken to Bridewell a few hours before. But in
spite of this wincing of Philip’s from observation
and remark, he never dreamed of acting otherwise than
as became a brave true friend. And this he did,
and would have done, from a natural faithfulness and
constancy of disposition, without any special regard
for Sylvia.
He knew his services were needed in the shop; business which he had left at a moment’s warning awaited him, unfinished; but at this time he could not bear the torture of giving explanations, and alleging reasons to the languid intelligence and slow sympathies of Coulson.