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The Sleeper Awakes Chapter 9 - The People March · The H. G. Wells Library

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  Speaker 1: Chapter nine of The Sleeper Awakes. This is a LibriVox recording.
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  Speaker 1: All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more
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  Speaker 1: information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. Recording
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  Speaker 1: by Ryan Sutter. The Sleeper Awakes by H. G. Wells,
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  Speaker 1: Chapter nine, The people march. He became aware of some
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  Speaker 1: one urging a glass of clear fluid. Upon his attention,
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  Speaker 1: looked up and discovered this was a dark young man
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  Speaker 1: in a yellow garment. He took the dose forthwith, and
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  Speaker 1: in a moment he was glowing. A tall man in
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  Speaker 1: a black robe stood by his shoulder and pointed to
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  Speaker 1: the half open door into the hall. This man was
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  Speaker 1: shouting close to his ear, and yet what was said
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  Speaker 1: was indistinct because of the tremendous uproar from the great theater.
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  Speaker 1: Behind the man was a girl in a silvery gray robe,
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  Speaker 1: whom Graham, even in this confusion, perceived to be beautiful.
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  Speaker 1: Her dark eyes, full of wonder and curiosity, were on him.
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  Speaker 1: Her lips trembled apart. A partially opened door gave a
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  Speaker 1: glimpse of the crowded hall, and admitted a vast, uneven tumult,
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  Speaker 1: A hammering, clapping, and shouting, that died away and began again,
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  Speaker 1: and rose to a thunderous pitch, and so continued intermittently
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  Speaker 1: all the time that Graham remained in the little room.
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  Speaker 1: He watched the lips of the man in black, and
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  Speaker 1: gathered that he was making some explanation. He stared stupidly
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  Speaker 1: for some moments at these things, and then stood up abruptly.
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  Speaker 1: He grasped the arm of this shouting person. Tell me,
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  Speaker 1: he cried, who am I? Who am I? The others
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  Speaker 1: came nearer to hear his words. Who am I? His
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  Speaker 1: eyes searched their faces. They have told him nothing, cried
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  Speaker 1: the girl. Tell me, tell me, cried Graham. You are
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  Speaker 1: the master of the earth. You are owner of the world.
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  Speaker 1: He did not believe he heard aright. He resisted the persuasion.
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  Speaker 1: He pretended not to understand, not to hear. He lifted
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  Speaker 1: his voice again. I've been awake three days a prisoner,
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  Speaker 1: three days. I judge there's some struggle between a number
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  Speaker 1: of people in this city. It is London, yes, said
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  Speaker 1: the younger man, And those who meet in the Great
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  Speaker 1: Hall with the white atlas. How does it concern me?
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  Speaker 1: In some way? It has to do with me why
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  Speaker 1: I don't know drugs. It seems to me that while
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  Speaker 1: I've slept, the world has gone mad. I have gone mad.
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  Speaker 1: Who are these counselors under the atlas? Why should they
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  Speaker 1: try to drug me? To keep you insensible? Said the
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  Speaker 1: man in yellow, to prevent your interference? But why? Because
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  Speaker 1: you are the atlas, sire, said the man in yellow.
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  Speaker 1: The world is on your shoulders. They rule it in
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  Speaker 1: your name. The sounds from the hall had died into
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  Speaker 1: a silence, threaded by one monotonous voice. Now suddenly trampling
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  Speaker 1: on these last words, came a deafening tumult, a roaring
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  Speaker 1: and thundering cheer, crowded on cheer voices, hoarse and shrill
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  Speaker 1: beating overlapping, And while it lasted, the people in the
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  Speaker 1: little room could not hear each other shout. Graham stood
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  Speaker 1: his intelligence, clinging helplessly to the thing he had just heard,
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  Speaker 1: The council, he repeated blankly, and then snatched at a
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  Speaker 1: name that had struck him. But who is ostrog he said?
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  Speaker 1: He's the organizer, the organizer of the revolt, our leader
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  Speaker 1: in your name, in my name? And you why is
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  Speaker 1: he not here? He has deputed us. I am his brother,
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  Speaker 1: his half brother, Lincoln. He wants you to show yourself
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  Speaker 1: to these people and then come on to him. That
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  Speaker 1: is why he has sent He's at the wind Vane
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  Speaker 1: offices directing. The people are marching in your name, shouted
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  Speaker 1: the younger man. They have ruled, crushed, tyrannized at last,
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  Speaker 1: even in my name, my name, master. The young man
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  Speaker 1: suddenly became audible in a pause of the outer thunder,
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  Speaker 1: indignant and vociferous, a high penetrating voice under his red,
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  Speaker 1: aquiline nose and bushy mustache. No one expected you to wake.
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  Speaker 1: No one expected you to wake. They were cunning, damned tyrants,
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  Speaker 1: but they were taken by surprise. They did not know
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  Speaker 1: whether to drug you, hypnotize you, or kill you again.
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  Speaker 1: The hall dominated everything. Ostrog is at the wind Vane offices. Ready.
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  Speaker 1: Even now there's a rumor of fighting beginning. The man
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  Speaker 1: who had called himself Lincoln came close to him. Ostrog
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  Speaker 1: has it planned, trust him. We have our organizations ready.
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  Speaker 1: We shall seize the flying stages. Even now he may
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  Speaker 1: be doing that. Then this public theater, bawled the man
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  Speaker 1: in yellow. It's only a contingent. We have five myriads
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  Speaker 1: of drilled men. We have arms, cried Lincoln, we have plans,
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  Speaker 1: a leader. Their police have gone from the streets and
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  Speaker 1: are mast in the inaudible. It is now or never.
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  Speaker 1: The council is rocking. They cannot trust even their drilled men.
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  Speaker 1: Hear the people calling to you. Graham's mind was like
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  Speaker 1: a night of moon and swift clouds, now dark and hopeless,
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  Speaker 1: now clear and ghastly. He was master of the earth.
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  Speaker 1: He was a man sodden with thawing snow. Of all
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  Speaker 1: his fluctuating impressions, the dominant ones presented an antagonism. On
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  Speaker 1: the one hand was the White Council, powerful, disciplined few,
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  Speaker 1: the White Council from which he had just escaped. And
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  Speaker 1: on the other hand, monstrous crowds, packed masses of indistinguishable people,
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  Speaker 1: clamoring his name, hailing him master. The other side had
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  Speaker 1: imprisoned him, debated his death. These shouting thousands beyond the
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  Speaker 1: little doorway had rescued him. But why these things should
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  Speaker 1: be so? He could not understand. The door opened, Lincoln's
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  Speaker 1: voice was swept away and drowned, and a rash of
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  Speaker 1: people followed on the heels of the tumult. These intruders
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  Speaker 1: came towards him, and Lincoln gesticulating. The voices without explained
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  Speaker 1: their soundless lips. Show us the sleeper, Show us the
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  Speaker 1: sleeper was the burden of the uproar. Men were bawling
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  Speaker 1: for order silence. Graham glanced towards the open doorway, saw
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  Speaker 1: a tall, oblong picture of the hall beyond a waving
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  Speaker 1: incessant confusion of crowded, shouting faces, men and women together
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  Speaker 1: waving pale blue garments extended hands. Many were standing, one
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  Speaker 1: man in rags of dark brown. A gaunt figure stood
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  Speaker 1: on the seat and waved a black cloth. He met
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  Speaker 1: the wonder and expectation of the girl's eyes. What did
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  Speaker 1: these people expect from him? He was dimly aware that
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  Speaker 1: the tumult outside had changed its character, was in some
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  Speaker 1: way beating marching. His own mind too, changed. For a
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  Speaker 1: space he did not recognize the influence that was transforming him.
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  Speaker 1: But a moment that was near to panic passed. He
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  Speaker 1: tried to make audible inquiries of what was required of him.
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  Speaker 1: Lincoln was shouting in his ear, but Graham was deafened
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  Speaker 1: to that. All the others, save the woman, gesticulated towards
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  Speaker 1: the hall. He perceived what had happened to the uproar.
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  Speaker 1: The whole mass of people was chanting together. It was
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  Speaker 1: not simply a song. The voices were gathered together and
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  Speaker 1: upborne by a torrent of instrumental music, music like the
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  Speaker 1: music of an organ, a woven texture of sounds, full
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  Speaker 1: of trumpets, full of flaunting banners, full of the march
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  Speaker 1: and pageantry of opening war. And the feet of the
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  Speaker 1: people were beating time, tramp, tramp. He was urged towards
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  Speaker 1: the door. He obeyed mechanically. The strength of that chant
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  Speaker 1: took hold of him, stirred him, emboldened him. The hall
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  Speaker 1: opened to him a vast welter of fluttering color, swaying
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  Speaker 1: to the music. Wave your arm to them, said Lincoln.
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  Speaker 1: Wave your arm to them, this said a voice on
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  Speaker 1: the other side. He must have this. Arms were about
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  Speaker 1: his neck, detaining him in the doorway, and a black,
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  Speaker 1: subtly folded mantle hung from his shoulders. He threw his
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  Speaker 1: arm free of this and followed Lincoln. He perceived the
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  Speaker 1: girl in gray close to him, Her face lit her
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  Speaker 1: gesture onward. For the instant she became to him, flushed
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  Speaker 1: and eager, as she was an embodiment of the song.
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  Speaker 1: He emerged in the alcove again incontinently. The mounting waves
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  Speaker 1: of the song broke upon his appearing and flashed up
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  Speaker 1: into a foam of shouting. Guided by Lincoln's hand, he
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  Speaker 1: marched obliquely across the center of the stage, facing the people.
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  Speaker 1: The hall was a vast and intricate space, galleries, balconies,
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  Speaker 1: broad spaces of amphitheatral steps, and great archways. Far away,
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  Speaker 1: high up seemed the mouth of a huge passage full
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  Speaker 1: of struggling humanity. The whole multitude was swaying in congested masses.
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  Speaker 1: Individual figures sprang out of the tumult, impressed him momentarily,
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  Speaker 1: and lost definition again. Close to the platform swayed a
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  Speaker 1: beautiful fair woman carried by three men, her hair across
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  Speaker 1: her face and brandishing a green staff. Next to this group,
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  Speaker 1: an old, careworn man in blue canvas maintained his place
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  Speaker 1: in the crush with difficulty, and behind shouted a hairless face,
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  Speaker 1: a great cavity of toothless mouth. A voice called with
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  Speaker 1: enigmatical word ostrog. All his impressions were vague save the
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  Speaker 1: massive emotion of that trampling song. The multitude were beating
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  Speaker 1: time with their feet marking time. Tramp tramp, tramp, tramp.
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  Speaker 1: The great weapons waved, flashed, and slanted. Then he saw
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  Speaker 1: those nearest to him, on a level space before the stage,
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  Speaker 1: were marching in front of him, passing towards a great archway,
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  Speaker 1: shouting to the council. Tramp tramp, tramp tramp. He raised
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  Speaker 1: his arm and the roaring was redoubled. He remembered he
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  Speaker 1: had to shout march. His mouth shaped inaudible heroic words.
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  Speaker 1: He waved his arm again and pointed to the archway,
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  Speaker 1: shouting onward. They were no longer marking time. They were marching.
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  Speaker 1: Tramp tramp, tramp tramp. In that host were bearded men,
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  Speaker 1: old men, youths, fluttering, robed, bare armed women, girls, men
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  Speaker 1: and women of the New age. Rich robes, gray rags
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  Speaker 1: fluttered together in the whirl of their movement. Amidst the
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  Speaker 1: dominant blue, a monstrous black banner jerked its way to
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  Speaker 1: the right. He perceived a blue clad negro, a shriveled
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  Speaker 1: woman in yellow. Then a group of tall, fair haired,
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  Speaker 1: white faced, blue clad men pushed theatrically past him. He
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  Speaker 1: noted two chinamen, a tall, sallow, dark haired, shining eyed youth,
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  Speaker 1: white clad from top to toe, clambered up towards the platform,
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  Speaker 1: shouting loyally, and sprang down again and receded, looking backward. Heads, shoulders,
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  Speaker 1: hands clutching weapons. All were swinging with those marching cadences.
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  Speaker 1: Faces came out of the confusion to him as he
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  Speaker 1: stood there. Eyes met his and passed and vanished. Men
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  Speaker 1: gesticulated to him, shouted in audible personal things. Most of
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  Speaker 1: the faces were flushed, but many were ghastly white, and
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  Speaker 1: disease was there, and many a hand that waved to
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  Speaker 1: him was gaunt and lean. Men and women of the
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  Speaker 1: new age. Strange and incredible meeting. As the broad stream
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  Speaker 1: passed before him to the right, tributary gangways from the
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  Speaker 1: remote uplands of the hall thrust downward in an incessant
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  Speaker 1: replacement of people. Tramp tramp, tramp tramp. The unison of
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  Speaker 1: the song was enriched and complicated by the massive echoes
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  Speaker 1: of arches and passages, men and women mingled in the ranks.
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  Speaker 1: Tramp tramp, tramp tramp. The whole world seemed marching tramp, tramp,
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  Speaker 1: tramp tramp. His brain was tramping. The garments waved onward,
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  Speaker 1: the faces poured by more abundantly tramp tramp, tramp tramp.
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  Speaker 1: At Lincoln's pressure, he turned toward the archway, walking unconsciously
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  Speaker 1: in that rhythm, scarcely noticing his movement, for the melody
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  Speaker 1: and stir of it. The multitude, the gesture, and song,
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  Speaker 1: all moved in that direction. The flow of people smote
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  Speaker 1: downward until the upturned faces were below the level of
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  Speaker 1: his feet. He was aware of a path before him,
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  Speaker 1: of a suite about him, of guards and dignities, and
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  Speaker 1: Lincoln on his right hand. Attendants intervened, and ever and
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  Speaker 1: again blotted out the sight of the multitude. To the
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  Speaker 1: left before him went the backs of the guards in black.
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  Speaker 1: Three and three and three. He was marched along a
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  Speaker 1: little railed way, and crossed above the archway, with the
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  Speaker 1: torrent dipping to flow beneath and shouting up at him.
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  Speaker 1: He did not know whither he went. He did not
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  Speaker 1: want to know. He glanced back across a flaming spaciousness
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  Speaker 1: of hall. Tramp tramp, tramp tramp. End of Chapter nine,
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  Speaker 1: recording by Ryan Sutter Ryansutter dot Net