In the middle of an afterdinner rubber a low grumble of thunder, mingling with the throbbing of drums from where the men were holding high wassail in the shape of a Diluka, gave warning of an approaching storm. At the same moment a sigh of rising wind drew the attention of all to where, low down on the sombre horizon, there was a continuous flicker of lightning.

The bridge came to an abrupt end, the servants lighted the lanterns, and brought the superfluous information of the imminent "haboob."

Owing to the short distance from the steamer, and a disinclination on the part of the hosts to terminate the rare meeting with men of their own race, who were able to give them the latest news from home, the whole party went down to the ship in company before saying farewell.

On leaving the mess hut the blackness of the night changed suddenly to brilliant light. In accordance with Soudanese custom, the soldiers had made torches, that flamed into illumination as they lined the way to the river.

Exchanging salutations with the savage figures outlined against the shadows, the Sirdar passed along the avenue of flaring brightness, turning to wave good-bye at the gang

way.

To the Bey he said the words that make hard service worth the while, and, shaking hands, embarked for the journey back to civilisation.

It was late that night when the harassed native Bimbashi sought his angerib. He had been complimented by his C.O. on his achievements during the harrowing period of inconvenient questioning by the Egyptian staff officer, and ill-timed requests for returns and states (that came to hand after frenzied search, but were found to be too approximate for acceptance).

As the stout old fightingman, who was no "scholard, unwound the putties from his wiry legs, he listened intently with head on one side. Then mental relief caused his countenance to break into a broad grin, for, after sounds of a hesitating chug-chug from her stern-wheel, the small steamer, guided by a searchlight, glided down the river with the Inquisitor safely on board.

Although professing the tenets of a Moslem soldier, he practised the faith with a few minor reservations. Pouring out a generous helping of gin, he observed a discreet regard for the ears of his coreligionists in the next hut, remarking in a thankful voice as he raised the enamelled tin cup

"Fantasia, khalas!"

SHOULD

THE Trade Unions of England have blackmailed a government and a country, devoted whole-heartedly to the blessed principle of majority rule, into submission. The principle has The principle has been accepted that, for nine months at any rate, the miners must have their way, and no questions asked. For that period they will take from the community what they want. In the eighteenth century a single highwayman was permitted to hold up a coachload, which might have been, had it chosen, as well armed as its attacker. The coach-load found it easier to give in; and, moreover, it was part of the tradition of life, then generally understood, not to interfere with the highwayman who was labouring in his vocation. ""Tis no sin," said Falstaff, "for a man to labour in his vocation.' So, too, the miners and their friends of the other Trade Unions were labouring in their vocation when they threatened an assault by direct action upon the whole country. They did not envisage the battle which they said was just beginning-they are great

VOL. CCXVIII.-NO. MƠCCXIX.

lovers of martial language-as a battle merely for higher wages and shorter hours. They shouted aloud that they would never cease from fighting until the mines were theirs. What they would do with them were they theirs they did not stop to think. It was a first campaign, they said, in the class war, and it is only in terms of a class war that they can discuss the industrial problem.

Although the leaders of labour are not agreed upon matters of strategy, they are at one for the moment about the tactics of the fray. Even the most moderate of them accept the principle of the general strike, which means nothing else than revolution. The leaders of the revolution

bluster and use threatening language. That sad personage, Mr Cook, exults in the battle which he assures us is to come. He is hailed by his fellows as the only begetter of what is now called "Red Friday." And then there is Mr Wheatley, who was a member of Mr Ramsay MacDonald's Government, and is said to be his preordained supplanter he has no doubt what

Ꭱ

ever. He puts no limit to his wild hopes and desires. "We are on the threshold," threshold," he boasts, "of an industrial and social revolution, and whether it is to take place peaceably or not depends on our intelligence. I see no serious effort being made to take the essential steps to reconstruct society while there is still time to do so in an orderly manner. ... It looks like evens on a clash. ... One thing is as clear as noonday. For the next nine months the workers must prepare on a new scale and on new lines for the greatest struggle in their history."

We do not believe that the workers are as reckless and as malicious as their leaders would represent them to be. But if Mr Wheatley speaks for others than himself, then we cannot take much pleasure in the prospect. It is "the greatest struggle in their history " to which they look forward. They have no patriotism, these men for whom Mr Wheatley speaks; they contemplate the ruin of the country with equanimity, although they know, or ought to know, that the ruin of the country will involve them in misery and starvation. The miners, according to Mr Cook and others, have no other ambition than to destroy the industry by which they live, that at the moment of its destruction they may lay a greedy hand upon it. Nor are we consoled by the foolish words which Mr Ramsay Mac

Donald, hoping for a speedy return to the Treasury Bench, pours out like so much soothing syrup. And how can we trust the sincerity of one who always measures his speech by his audience? When he addressed the Summer School of the Independent Labour Party, at the very moment of revolution, he spoke with the voice which might have been the voice of a placid reactionary. "Did they really believe," he asked, "supposing they had a Socialist majority, that in the course of a year or two they could change fundamentally the economic and industrial conditions of the country and create a Socialist State ! He did not. Supposing they had a revolution, could they create a Socialist State out of it? They could do nothing of the kind." Is this, we wonder, an admonition or a cry of despair? In the times of trouble which shall surely come, he can use it in whichever sense suits him. For the moment he expressed an imperfect sympathy with the extreme members of his Party. He said that he and his friends had very little in common with Communism. They say they are all Socialists," said he. "That is all right, but that is not their distinctive characteristic. Their distinctive characteristic is that by the marshalling of force you could conquer the world, as undoubtedly you can, but the Socialist is not out to conquer the world. He is out to re

create the world." Well, when they do come "out" to conquer the world by the simple method of destruction, Mr Ramsay MacDonald does not move a finger to check them, and the Communists, we are told, at the next Congress are to be admitted within the sacred precincts of the Party.

The Government, faced by revolution, temporised with the enemy. And, being unprepared, it could do nothing else. It called a truce of nine months and promised a subsidy, which should carry on the coal industry for that period upon the old footing. Mr Baldwin made the best of a bad job, and carried the House of Commons with him. At such a time we could not expect, and we certainly did not get, much enthusiasm. The Prime Minister saw clearly enough the danger he was running, and, as he said with perfect truth, there was no adverse argument of the other side which he did not anticipate. He knew that he wanted breathing space, and thus only could he get it. On the day before the subsidy was granted, they had reached a deadlock. "I was able," said Mr Baldwin, "to get certain concessions from the owners which I thought might have been the basis of negotiations, but I was unable to get the miners to recede from the position that they would not consider the question of either hours or wages." Clearly there was no ground for compromise.

"It, therefore, became quite impossible," thus Mr Baldwin went on, "to say what concessions ultimately the owners would have given had there been been a genuine a genuine attempt at negotiation. It was impossible to get them farther; it was impossible to get the miners to move at all." And yet, thought Mr Baldwin, there were several reasons why at this moment a struggle should be avoided, were it possible. "We are suffering from unprecedentedly bad trade "—again it is Mr Baldwin who speaks-" which has lasted a long time, and in some industries hope was nearly lost. I have heard in the last two or three days, from men whose judgment I value and respect, that in some industries we may hope for an improvement.' That is a sound enough reason why the Government should contrive a respite-the mere hope of a reviving trade. Mr Baldwin's second reason is a reason not against the particular strike that was threatened, but against all strikes. "Who are the men," he asked, "who suffer most in a struggle like this? Not the men's leaders, but the rank and file. I have seen this kind of trouble at close quarters; I have seen works closing down; I have lived amongst it; and I am not going to inflict such sufferings on innocent people if I can see a way out." The worst of it is that the "way out " which Mr Baldwin sees will be closed before very long, for a

respite does not imply a perpetual freedom from trouble. Moreover, the men who were ready to hold up the country once will hold it up again. Nor can the State expect gratitude or devotion from those whose heart, if you can call it a heart, is set upon strife.

But for the future Mr Baldwin is resolute. He is creating no precedent. He will not subsidise any other trade, nor will he continue the subsidy which he has promised. If he did he would drive the country upon the rocks of bankruptcy; he would admit the principle of class tyranny, which no selfrespecting Minister could ever admit. "We were confronted last week," he said, "by a great body of Trade Unionists, who had the power and the will to inflict an enormous and irreparable danger on their country. Had there been a stoppage, it would have caused an infinite amount of misery, With some it is a deliberate and avowed policy to cause a stoppage of this kind." It is indeed a fine comment upon the intelligence of the newly enfranchised, who clamoured for the vote, both men and women, and declared they would never be happy till they got it. Their love of democracy was a sham. Democracy moves too slowly for them. They must get what they think they want without waiting for the deliberate process of the polling booth and the voting lobbies. And Mr

Baldwin finished his speech upon a proper note of defiance: "Should ever the will to strike ever come temporarily-and it would only be temporary in this country-and if we are again confronted with a challenge of the nature I have described," thus he spoke, "let me say that no minority in a free country has ever yet coerced the whole community. The community will always protect itself, for the community must be fed, and it will see that it gets its food. I am convinced that if the time should come when the community has to protect itself . . . the community will astonish the forces of anarchy throughout the world."

We only hope that what Mr Baldwin said will come true. The history of revolutions is not reassuring. It is the purpose of revolution to destroy and kill, and this purpose may be achieved by a minority as a couple of burglars may break into a house. When the revolutionaries have killed and destroyed enough, they are killed in their turn, and the way is made clear for an iron tyranny. That was what happened in France in 1789; that is what has happened recently in Russia. If there be a revolution there is no escape. And the worst is that the careless rascals who provoke revolution, when they have provoked it, are powerless to control it. The reins are put into evil hands, and the coach goes downhill