Black August

by Dennis Wheatley

  For years we have been drifting powerless in the grip of an effete system of Government. His Majesty knew it, I knew it, and the best brains in this country, who now constitute my council, knew it; moreover, in the last twenty years, I have made it my business to gather the opinions of men and women of every shade of thought and feeling in the country, rich and poor alike, and I am aware that many thousands of them realised it too, yet I was powerless to intervene.

  Had I made any premature attempt to save the country from the crisis which I foresaw I should have been instantly accused of seeking a dictatorship, thereby seriously prejudicing the goodwill of a large section of the community when the crisis came.

  I have never sought a dictatorship, and I give my assurance that as soon as law and order have been re-established throughout the country, I shall cease to act as a dictator. In the meantime however His Majesty’s condition being too grave for him to bear the strain of such a crisis, the last act of the legally constituted Government was to surrender supreme power into my hands; to refuse it would have been a cowardly neglect of my duty as your Prince.

  Parliament will reassemble in due course, for it is as much a part of the Constitution as the Sovereignty itself, and time has proved that a Constitutional Monarchy is the form of Government best suited to the British people.

  But, when it reassembles, it is my intention to urge upon it the passage of bills which will make it a different body to that which we have known for many generations. Firstly, I shall propose that hereditary Peers resign their right to sit by descent alone, and that for the future they be represented by certain members of their own order elected amongst themselves. By this means the best elements among the aristocracy will be retained and the Upper Chamber disembarrassed of those less useful.

  Secondly, that the House of Peers be strengthened to twice its remaining number by new members; men of proven worth who have served the country well in every walk of life, yet who would never prostitute themselves to enter politics by throwing out promises, impossible of fulfilment, to an ill-informed electorate. These will be elected in varying proportions by the newly constituted Upper and Lower Houses, Dominions Parliaments, Councils of Crown Colonies, and on the personal nomination of the Sovereign.

  By these measures it is hoped that a body of men may be gathered together who will represent in achievement, integrity, and intellect, all that is finest, not only in Britain, but in our Empire beyond the seas.

  To such a body we could well restore the ancient powers of the Upper House, while the Lower will remain, not as it has come of late years to be, a manoeuvring ground for ambitious party leaders, and wielding an authority far beyond its rightful place in the Constitution, but an elected body to voice the opinion of the people and a stepping-stone for men of talent to the Upper House.

  There will be in future no Prime Minister. That office was created solely on account of the difficulty which William of Orange experienced in speaking and understanding the English language. It is the rightful prerogative of the Crown, and, should His Majesty’s condition continue to improve, as we pray it may, he will once more assume the Sovereign’s ancient position at the head of the Council table. In the meantime I shall continue to act on his behalf.

  I come now to the greatest step which has so far been taken to bring prosperity back to this dear country of ours. It is a policy which should have been developed long ago, but only this great crisis made possible the removal of opposition in the domestic politics of the Dominions and inter-colonial rivalries. I speak of the redistribution of the population throughout the Empire.

  At home we are faced with the tragic figures of the unemployed, while in our Dominions and dependencies there are stored enough fertility and wealth to give abundance to all the Empire’s peoples. Emigration in the past has been difficult and expensive: families going out from this country have gone alone to face hardships and, in the remote parts, possible danger.

  In the early days of the crisis I used my personal influence to dispatch a number of Royal Air Force machines to various destinations, and in them sent trusted friends who knew my purpose to act as my ambassadors.

  The response to my appeal by our kindred overseas has been magnificent beyond words, and a unique example of their love for the Mother Country.

  They have agreed to open their great territories to us, and vast tracts of fertile land, at present difficult of access, are to be brought into cultivation in many portions of the globe.

  New towns and cities are to be built which will offer employment in every type of industry. Free passage will be given to all who are willing to emigrate, and accommodation on arrival in these new State-owned towns at moderate rentals deducted from subsidised wages, leaving a margin sufficient to ensure a decent standard of living.

  Emigrants will be asked to sign on for three, five or seven years, and during that period they will be guaranteed a minimum wage according to their employment; special allowances in addition will be paid for wives, children and dependants. Full particulars of this great emigration scheme will be published and broadcast throughout the country.

  I ask then for five million volunteers; men and women who have the courage to go upon this great adventure, and lighten the burden which is upon us at home.

  I appeal especially to the unemployed. For years now many of them have led a tragic and humiliating existence. If they remain here their lot cannot be bettered, at least for years to come. If they go forth in the spirit of their ancestors a useful self-respecting life, in which they may once more hold up their heads, awaits them.

  I want five million volunteers, and if they will come forward they may count themselves the saviours of their country.

  And now I would urge upon every one of you, whatever your age or circumstance may be, the absolute necessity in this great crisis, the worst of which is now happily over, to stand firm in the cause of law and order. Not to do so is to betray your own family and friends to a renewed, and perhaps final, anarchy. It is therefore the duty of every freeborn man and woman in this country to obey fully and loyally such decrees as shall be issued for the protection of the State upon my Sovereign authority. God bless you all.’

  There was a brief pause and then the announcer’s voice came again:

  ‘This proclamation was issued from Windsor at four o’clock this afternoon under the signature of the Prince Regent.’

  ‘By Jove, he’s done it!’ exclaimed Kenyon, ‘and he’s the only man in the kingdom who could have pulled it off.’

  Silas nodded as he switched off the loud speaker: ‘Five million volunteers, eh? d’you think he’ll get them?’

  ‘Why not?’ Veronica laughed a little hysterically; ‘they got five million volunteers to offer themselves for a killing before conscription was brought in during the Great War, and this applies to women too. He’ll get them easily once it becomes the patriotic thing to do!’

  ‘It’s amazing that your Colonies should agree to this scheme, though,’ Silas hazarded.

  ‘They’ll benefit too.’ Kenyon began to pace up and down: ‘Look at Australia, a vast continent with a population something less than that of London. They could lose a couple of million people there! Take some absorbing perhaps, but with new towns being built and Government organisation it could be done. Redistribution of population, eh? and a new bond to knit the Empire together. By God! he’s cutting at the root of the trouble!’

  ‘I wonder how many people heard that broadcast?’ said Ann suddenly.

  An immediate soberness descended on them all and Rudd lurched over to the window; ‘Not many,’ he said tersely, ‘can’t ‘ave bin.’

  ‘No,’ Silas added, ‘it was pure chance that I happened to switch it on, the damn thing’s been out of action for a month, there won’t be one in ten thousand listening in tonight.’

  ‘But they can’t shoot us after this!’ Veronica clutched him by the arm, ‘they can’t!

  ‘They may. Ipswich is Communist still and will be perha
ps until the morning.’

  ‘It’s twenty-five pars’ six by that there clock,’ announced Rudd.

  ‘Good God! only thirty-five minutes to go.’ Kenyon ran to the door and hammered on it. ‘If we tell the guard what’s happened he may pass on the news.’

  ‘He won’t believe you, darling,’ Ann shook her head miserably.

  The sentry opened the door and in a quick spate of words Kenyon poured out the news from London.

  ‘You can tell that yarn to the marines,’ said the fellow morosely, and slammed it shut again.

  ‘What about breaking out?’ cried Veronica.

  ‘We’d all be shot, sweet, just as surely as we would have been an hour ago,’ Silas told her.

  ‘But we can’t let them murder us now!’

  ‘We’ll put up a fight when they come for us,’ he assured her with a quick glance at the window; ‘but I only wish someone would start a riot here. Other folks besides us must have heard that radio somewhere in this town.’

  ‘Then they’ll have to make it snappy, sir,’ Rudd threw over his shoulder, ‘it’s twenty ter seven now!’

  ‘This is intolerable,’ exlaimed Kenyon; ‘to think our side is on top again yet we’re to be killed off in twenty minutes’ time; it’s fantastic!’

  ‘I know!’ Ann’s face brightened, let’s ask to be taken before the Magistrate again.’

  ‘That’s it—that’s it.’ Kenyon began to bang loudly on the door.

  The sentry opened it a foot and thrust an angry face in; ‘What the ’ell is it now?’

  ‘We want to be taken back to the Magistrate,’ Kenyon begged.

  ‘Aw, shut up, can’t you. He’s busy and you’ve had your turn. Be quiet now!’ The man jerked the door shut again with a bang.

  Rudd’s face was glued to the window. Orderlies on horseback and bicycles continued to arrive at the Town Hall; a little group of the new Red soldiery sat on the steps, their rifles handy, but laughing and joking over a game of cards in the late afternoon sunshine.

  The gross bulky man who had made the third member of the Tribunal came hurrying out of the building; he looked furtively to right and left, then set off at a quick pace up the street. Rudd glanced at the clock again. ‘It’s a quarter to seven,’ he said anxiously. ‘We’ll be for it unless someone does something pretty quick.’

  As he spoke a small body of Greyshirts came round the corner, the leader held a long white paper in his hand. At their appearance the guards on the Town Hall steps grabbed their rifles and scrambled to their feet. Rudd threw up the window and leaned out, his head pressed against the barbed wire mesh.

  ‘Silence!’ cried the leader of the Greyshirts. ‘If you shoot us it will be murder. I am about to read a proclamation by the Government in London.’

  Thank God!’ Kenyon breathed, ‘it’s the message on the wireless.’

  The Greyshirt held up his paper and began to read in a loud voice. The armed men on the steps shuffled uncomfortably; in some mysterious fashion news of the new development had spread. A crowd of people surged out from the Town Hall, and the Square, which had been almost empty a few moments before, began to fill like magic. From every side-street figures ran to block the wide open space.

  ‘Hell!’ exclaimed Veronica.

  ‘What is it?’ whispered Ann.

  ‘That filthy woman who was on the bench.’

  Then they all saw her; tall, haggard, wisps of grey hair blowing about her face, she forced her way towards the troops of the local Soviet. As they watched she issued a swift order; two men shook their heads and backed away, but the rest obediently raised their rifles.

  The reader of the Proclamation hesitated, faltered, stopped. For a second an unearthly silence filled the square, then the woman’s voice came fierce and shrill.

  ‘Shoot!’

  There was a rattle of shots. A groan went up from the crowd; three Greyshirts dropped from sight, but their leader still stood unharmed. With a sudden shout he flourished the Proclamation and charged up the steps.

  ‘Down with the Reds,’ bellowed Kenyon. ‘Long Live the Prince!’

  A hundred faces in the crowd turned to stare at the windows whence this clarion call had come, and another voice took it up. ‘Down with the Reds! Come on, chaps—foiler me!’ It came from a burly carter in a leather apron.

  The cry was taken up on every side. A little phalanx of blue-clad policemen had appeared from somewhere and, with an inspector at their head, were thrusting their way towards the Town Hall.

  The reports from the rifles of the Red soldiers echoed sharply again. The Greyshirt leader fell backwards, shot through the head, but the rest were fighting at close quarters seeking to wrest their weapons from the guards.

  A solitary rifle cracked from a window at the side of the square and the woman who had urged on the Communists clutched wildly at her chest, her mouth dropped open as though to shriek, then she pitched forward under the feet of the struggling mob.

  ‘It’s jus’ turned seven o’clock,’ said Rudd.

  Next minute a body of Communist cavalry came charging out of a side-turning into the crowd. Two were pulled from their saddles, a third fell from his horse, struck on the back of the head by a brick, but the rest cleared a wide lane through the mass and, turning at the far end of the square, galloped at full tilt again into the shrinking, struggling mob of people.

  The troops on the steps poured another volley into the fleeing pedestrians, and in another minute the square was empty except for the Soviet soldiers and the wounded.

  ‘Blimey!’ exclaimed Rudd bitterly, ‘if we ain’t sunk after all.’

  Kenyon nodded sadly. ‘I’m afraid that was our last chance, and they may come for us any minute now.’

  ‘No,’ cried Ann. ‘Listen! What’s that?’

  The sound of wild cheering came from somewhere out of sight along the street. The mob surged back into the square, and in their midst a lorry nosed its way into view.

  ‘Troops!’ yelled Veronica shrilly. ‘Hell’s bells! we’ve won!’

  A machine-gun stuttered, checked, and then burst into a violent chatter. The horses of the Red cavalry reared, plunged and fell: another lorry came into view, a third, a fourth, a fifth—all packed with khaki figures. Under the death-dealing zip of the machine-gun bullets the Soviet infantry fled, jostling and fighting among themselves to be first through the doors of the Town Hall.

  Careless of the barbed wire at the windows the prisoners leaned out waving and shouting wild encouragement; then Rudd’s voice came above the din. ‘There ’e is—I knew ’e’d come back fer us. Go on, sir—give ’em ‘ell!’

  ‘It is—it’s Gregory!’ Veronica cried, almost off her head with joy.

  As he caught Rudd’s stentorian shout Gregory, still in his tattered khaki, the golden oakleaves on his scarlet banded hat now frayed and grimy, looked up at them from the leading lorry and waved a smiling greeting. Ten minutes later he was with them in the room, answering a hail of excited questions.

  ‘I couldn’t have done it if you people hadn’t given me the chance to get away,’ he told them, ‘and finding out the real situation was a bit of luck, the rest was dead easy.’

  ‘Tell us, tell us!’ Veronica insisted.

  ‘Well, when I got into that lane beside the Town Hall I knew I was certain to be hunted through the streets if I was spotted in this rig-out, so I shinned up a fire-ladder and scrambled over the roofs as hard as I could go, but I slipped on a loose slate and pitched, feet foremost, through a skylight—that’s where the luck came in!’

  ‘Go on,’ urged Ann. ‘Go on!’

  ‘Be patient, pansy face,’ he chaffed her; ‘the place happened to be the temporary hiding place of an Ipswich policeman. He wasn’t in his uniform of course, but as soon as he saw me he came out of his shell, and he was a remarkably intelligent chap. He joined a secret organisation, composed mainly of reliables in the old force, early in the troubles, and with half a dozen others has been keeping an eye on things her
e, and then passing on his reports to people higher up for transmission to Headquarters at Windsor. Naturally I had been racking my brains as I came over the roofs as to how to get you out of it, but this chap had all the dope about the Counter-Revolution having taken place this morning; and he said that having secured the great industrial centres they would be mopping up the other towns tonight. I didn’t dare to wait though, and when he told me he felt certain loyal troops would be in Colchester already, I borrowed his push-bike and beat it. I was chivvied through the streets before I got out of the town but the rest was easy.’

  ‘Easy?’ echoed Veronica, raising her eyes to Heaven.

  ‘Yes.’ He smiled with his old air of superb self-confidence; ‘I flung my weight about a bit and, seeing all my blood-stained bandages, they thought me no end of a tiger so I got away with half a company.’

  ‘Won’t you get into awful trouble now that the Government is restored?’ asked Kenyon anxiously.

  He laughed gaily; ‘No, Old Soldiers never die. I’m just going over to the Town Hall to see that the job has been properly completed, then I propose to shed the purple, and as the song has it, gently Fade Away!

  They followed him downstairs and at the entrance to the hotel he turned and smiled at them. ‘You’d better stay here for the moment, I won’t be long.’ Then he shouldered his way into the press.

  For a few moments they stood on the pavement watching the cheering jostling crowd, then Veronica seized Kenyon’s arm and pointed to another lorry that was slowly entering the square.

  ‘Look, look! on the box!’ she cried, ‘there’s Alistair!’

  ‘Why, so it is, old Hay-Symple by all that’s wonderful.’

  ‘Alistair you brute!’ shrieked Veronica; ‘I adore your ugly face, come here!’

  Major Hay-Symple heard her shout, looked his amazement in seeing her there and, jumping down, pushed his way towards them. As he stepped on to the pavement Veronica flung her arms round his neck and Kenyon thumped him on the back; but he took it all quite calmly, surveying their ragged clothes and the unshaven faces of the men with mild amusement. His own attire was as faultless as if he had just come off the parade ground; his firm chin seemed newly shaven, and his moustache was brushed stiffly upward as of old.