----------------------------------------
“Well,” said the admiral, once they were sheltered beneath the ancient tree, its gnarled branches casting twisted shadows in the dim light, the sound of rain pattering on the leaves adding a melancholic rhythm to their tense conversation. “Well—what is it?”
“If your young friend Mr. Bennett should chance to send a pistol-bullet through any portion of my anatomy, prejudicial to the prolongation of my existence, you will be so good as not to interfere with anything I may have about me, or to make any disturbance whatsoever,” Lazarus said, his voice eerily calm.
“You may depend I sha’n’t,” replied the admiral, a hint of grim determination in his tone.
“Just take the matter perfectly easy—as a thing of course,” Lazarus continued, his eyes fixed on the admiral’s.
“Oh! I mean d—d easy.”
“Ha! What a delightful thing is friendship!” Lazarus mused, a faint, unsettling smile on his pale lips. “There is a little knoll or mound of earth midway between here and the Hall. Do you happen to know it? There is one solitary tree growing near its summit—an oriental looking tree of the fir tribe, which, fan-like, spreads its deep green leaves across the azure sky.”
“Oh! bother it; it’s a d—d old tree, growing upon a little bit of a hill, I suppose you mean?”
“Precisely; only much more poetically expressed. The moon rises at a quarter past four tonight, or rather tomorrow morning.”
“Does it?”
“Yes; and if I should happen to be killed, you will have me removed gently to this mound of earth, and there laid beneath this tree, with my face upwards. Make sure it is done before the moon rises. You can watch that no one interferes.”
“A likely job. What the deuce do you take me for? I tell you what it is, Mr. Vampyre, or Lazarus, or whatever your name is—if you should chance to be hit, wherever you chance to fall, there you’ll lie.”
“How very unkind.”
“Uncommon, ain’t it?”
“Well, well, since that is your determination, I must take care of myself in another way. I can do so, and I will.”
“Take care of yourself however you like, for all I care; I’ve come here to second you, to see that, on the honor of a seaman, if you are put out of the world, it’s done in proper manner. That’s all I have to do with you—now you know.”
Sir Ferdinand Lazarus looked after him with a strange, twisted smile as the admiral walked away to make the necessary preparations with O’Hara for the immediate commencement of the contest. The dark clouds above added to the foreboding atmosphere, the rain now a steady drizzle that mingled with the earth, turning it into a mire.
These preparations were simple and brief. It was agreed that twelve paces should be measured out, six each way, from a fixed point; one six to be paced by the admiral, and the other by O’Hara. Then, they were to draw lots to see at which end of this imaginary line Lazarus was to be placed. The signal for firing was to be: one, two, three—fire!
A few minutes sufficed to complete these arrangements. The ground was measured as stated, and the combatants were placed in their respective positions. Sir Ferdinand Lazarus stood nearest to the little wood and his own residence, his gaunt figure silhouetted against the darkening sky.
Even the bravest and calmest of men could not help but feel a slight tremor in such circumstances. Henry Bennett, despite his courage, felt a storm of sensations and emotions swirl within his heart. He stood on the edge of eternity, the reality of his situation weighing heavily upon him. His face was pale, reflecting the gravity of the moment.
He did not fear death itself, but the transition from this world to the next was a solemn change that deserved respect. Hence, his expression mirrored the deep emotion he felt, the seriousness of a brave but not reckless man.
In stark contrast, Sir Ferdinand Lazarus appeared to view the duel with a strange, almost gleeful detachment. His lips curled into a smirking satisfaction, his demeanor more amused than concerned, a curious sight considering his previous attempts to avoid the confrontation. This eerie composure only served to unsettle those who witnessed it.
The admiral, who stood at the same level as Lazarus, couldn’t see the expression on his face, but O’Hara and Henry did, and they found it deeply disturbing.
“Confound him,” whispered O’Hara to Henry. “One would think he was quite delighted, instead of being uneasy about these proceedings. Look how he grins.”
“It is no matter,” said Henry, his voice steady but low. “Let him wear whatever aspect he may, it is the same to me; and, as Heaven is my judge, if I did not think myself justified in so doing, I would not raise my hand against this man.”
“There can be no shadow of a doubt regarding your justification. Have at him, and Heaven protect you,” O’Hara replied, gripping Henry’s shoulder in a gesture of solidarity.
“Amen,” murmured the admiral, his voice a low growl as he moved aside with O’Hara, their forms shrouded in the shadow of the ancient tree. The rain fell in a soft, relentless patter, the world around them growing ever darker and more foreboding.
The admiral cleared his throat and called out, “Are you ready, gentlemen? Once.”
Henry and Lazarus stood rigid, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, fingers twitching near the triggers of their pistols.
“Twice!” The admiral’s voice echoed, cutting through the oppressive silence. Lazarus, with an unsettling smile, looked around as if he were at a casual gathering rather than a duel.
“Thrice!” Lazarus seemed more interested in the rain-drenched sky than in the imminent confrontation.
“Fire!” The admiral’s command was sharp, but only one report rang out, the crack of Henry’s pistol echoing in the gloom. All eyes turned to Lazarus, who had not fired, his weapon still lowered. The tension mounted as he slowly, deliberately raised his pistol, a sinister grin playing on his lips.
“Did you hear the word, Sir Ferdinand?” the admiral barked, frustration tinged with concern. “I gave it loud enough, didn’t I, Jack?”
“Aye, you did,” replied Jack Pringle, his voice gruff. “You often do, especially when you want grog.”
“You d—d rascal, I’ll have your back scored, I will,” snapped the admiral.
“So you will, when you’re afloat again, which you never will be—you’re paid off, that’s certain,” Jack retorted with a smirk.
“You lubberly lout, you ain’t a seaman; a seaman would never mutiny against his admiral. Howsomever, do you hear, Sir Ferdinand, I’ll give the matter up if you don’t pay some attention to me.”
Henry’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched Lazarus, expecting every moment to feel the sting of a bullet. O’Hara, sensing the danger, exclaimed, “This is not according to usage!”
Lazarus ignored him, his weapon rising steadily until it pointed skyward. With a chilling nonchalance, he fired into the air.
“I had not anticipated this,” said O’Hara, moving to Henry’s side. “I thought he was taking a more deadly aim.”
“And I,” admitted Henry, his voice a mix of relief and confusion.
“Ay, you have escaped, Henry; let me congratulate you.”
“Not so fast; we may fire again.”
Lazarus smiled, an unsettling sight. “I can afford to do that.”
The admiral, his face a mask of irritation, interjected, “You should have fired, sir, according to custom. This is not the proper thing.”
“What, fire at your friend?”
“Oh, that’s all very well! You are my friend for a time, vampire as you are, and I intend you shall fire.”
“If Mr. Henry Bennett demands another fire, I have no objection and will fire at him. But it would be quite useless for him to do so—to point mortal weapons at me is mere child’s play. They will not hurt me.”
“The devil they won’t,” the admiral muttered.
Lazarus stepped forward, untying his neckerchief with a dramatic flourish. “Look here; if Mr. Henry Bennett should demand another fire, he may do so with the same bullet.”
“The same bullet?” O’Hara’s eyes widened in disbelief. “How is this?”
“My eyes,” said Jack, his voice tinged with awe. “Who’d have thought it? Wouldn’t he do for a dummy—to lead a forlorn hope, or to put in among the boarders?”
Lazarus handed the bullet to Henry. “Here is the bullet you shot at me.”
Henry stared at the blackened lead, his hand trembling. O’Hara grabbed it, fitting it to Henry’s pistol, and found it a perfect match.
“By heaven, it is so!” O’Hara exclaimed, stepping back and casting a horrified glance at Lazarus.
“D—e,” the admiral swore. “If I understand this. Why, Jack Pringle, you dog, here’s a strange fish.”
“Oh, no! There’s plenty on ’em in some countries,” Jack replied, his tone casual but his eyes wary.
“Will you insist upon another fire, or may I consider you satisfied?” Lazarus asked, his voice a velvety purr.
“I object,” O’Hara declared. “Henry, this affair must go no further; it would be madness—worse than madness—to fight upon such terms.”
“So say I,” the admiral agreed. “I will not have anything to do with you, Sir Ferdinand. I’ll not be your second any longer. I didn’t bargain for such a game as this. You might as well fight with the man in brass armor, at the Lord Mayor’s show, or the champion at a coronation.”
“Oh!” Jack Pringle chimed in. “A man may as well fire at the back of an alligator as a vampire.”
The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pallid glow over the damp clearing where the duel had just concluded. The shadows of ancient trees loomed ominously, their gnarled branches twisting like the fingers of forgotten specters. A chill wind whispered through the air, carrying with it an eerie sense of foreboding.
“This must be considered as having been concluded,” declared Mr. O’Hara, his voice steady but his eyes flickering with unease.
“No!” Henry’s voice rang out, defiant against the encroaching darkness.
“And wherefore not?” O’Hara’s gaze hardened, probing Henry’s determination.
“Because I have not received his fire,” Henry responded, his eyes never leaving Sir Ferdinand Lazarus, who stood with an unsettlingly calm demeanor.
“Heaven forbid you should,” O’Hara murmured, a note of pleading in his voice.
“I may not with honour quit the ground without another fire,” Henry insisted, his resolve unwavering.
“Under ordinary circumstances, there might be some shadow of an excuse for your demand; but as it is, there is none. You have neither honour nor credit to gain by such an encounter, and certainly, you can gain no object,” O’Hara argued, his voice softening with concern.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“How are we to decide this affair? Am I considered absolved from the accusation under which I lay, of cowardice?” Sir Ferdinand Lazarus inquired, his cold smile chilling.
“Why, as for that,” the admiral interjected, “I should as soon expect credit for fighting behind a wall, as with a man that I couldn’t hit any more than the moon.”
“Henry, let me implore you to quit this scene; it can do no good,” O’Hara urged, his voice trembling with desperation.
At that moment, a distant clamor of human voices pierced the stillness, causing everyone to freeze and listen intently. The indistinct murmurs and shouts grew louder, a cacophony of unrest.
“What can all this mean?” O’Hara wondered aloud, his brow furrowing. “There is something very strange about it. I cannot imagine a cause for so unusual an occurrence.”
“Nor I,” Sir Ferdinand Lazarus replied, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at Henry Bennett.
“Upon my honor, I know neither the cause nor the nature of the sounds themselves,” Henry declared, his voice steady despite the growing tension.
“Then we can easily see what is the matter from yonder hillock,” the admiral suggested, pointing to a nearby rise. “And there’s Jack Pringle, he’s up there already. What’s he telegraphing about in that manner, I wonder?”
Jack Pringle, perched atop the hillock, was waving his arms frantically. He had noticed the commotion and hoped to glean some information about what he termed the “row.” From his vantage point, he saw a crowd of villagers, armed and shouting, surging toward the clearing.
Jack hitched up his trousers, swore under his breath, and removed his hat to shout down to the admiral, “D—e, they are too late to spoil the sport. Hilloa! Hurrah!”
“What’s all that about, Jack?” the admiral called, puffing as he ascended the hill. “What’s the squall about?”
“Only a few horse-marines and bumboat-women, startled like a company of penguins,” Jack replied, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Oh, my eyes! Wouldn’t a whole broadside set ’em flying, Jack?” the admiral chuckled.
“Aye, just as those Frenchmen you ‘murdered’ aboard the Big Thunderer, as you called it,” Jack retorted.
“I murdered them, you rascal?” the admiral barked, his face flushing.
“Yes; about five hundred of them killed,” Jack said, his tone matter-of-fact.
“They were only shot,” the admiral countered, bristling.
“They were killed; only your conscience tells you it’s uncomfortable,” Jack replied coolly.
“You rascal—villain! You ought to be keel-hauled and well payed,” the admiral spat.
“Aye; you’re payed, and paid off as an old hulk,” Jack shot back, unperturbed.
“D—e—you—you—oh! I wish I had you on board ship; I’d make your lubberly carcass like a Union Jack, full of red and blue stripes.”
“Oh, it’s all very well; but if you don’t take to your heels, you’ll have all the old women in the village whacking on you, that’s all I have to say about it. You’d better port your helm and about ship, or you’ll be keel-hauled.”
“D—n your—” the admiral began, his frustration mounting.
“What’s the matter?” O’Hara inquired as he arrived, his breath coming in short gasps.
“What’s the cause of all the noise we have heard?” Sir Ferdinand asked, his tone dripping with disdain. “Has some village festival spontaneously burst forth among the rustics of this place?”
“I cannot tell the cause of it,” Henry replied, his voice tense. “But they seem to be coming toward this place.”
“Indeed!” Sir Ferdinand’s eyes gleamed with curiosity.
“I think so too,” O’Hara agreed, his concern deepening.
“With what object?” Sir Ferdinand demanded, his gaze sharp and probing.
“No peaceable one,” Henry observed, his tone grim. “For, as far as I can see, they are moving as if to enclose something or intercept somebody.”
“Indeed! But why come here?” Sir Ferdinand’s voice was a cold whisper.
“If I knew that, I would have at once told the cause,” Henry replied, frustration edging his words.
“And they appear armed with a variety of odd weapons,” Sir Ferdinand noted, his eyes narrowing. “They mean to attack someone. Who is that man with them? He seems to be deprecating their approach.”
“That appears to be Mr. Churchill,” said Henry, his voice barely a whisper as he peered into the gloom. “I think that is he.”
“Yes,” observed the admiral, narrowing his eyes. “I know the build of that craft. He’s been in our company before. I always recognize a ship as soon as I see it.”
“Do you, though?” Jack’s tone was mocking, his eyes glinting with mischief.
“Yes,” the admiral shot back. “What do you mean, eh? Let me hear what you’ve got to say against your captain and your admiral, you mutinous dog. Speak up.”
“So I will,” Jack said, a sly grin spreading across his face. “You thought you were fighting a big ship in a fog, firing a dozen broadsides or so, and it turned out to be nothing but the Flying Dutchman, or the devil himself.”
“You infernal dog—” the admiral began, his face flushing with anger.
“Well, you know it might as well have been our own shadow,” Jack continued, unperturbed. “Indeed, I think it was.”
“You think!” the admiral scoffed. “That’s mutiny! I’ll have no more to do with you, Jack Pringle. You’re no seaman and have no respect for your officer. Now sheer off, or I’ll cut your yards.”
“Why, as for my yards, I’ll square ’em presently if I like, you old swab,” Jack retorted. “But as for leaving you, very well. You have said so, and you shall be accommodated, d—--e. It wasn’t so when your nob was nearly rove through with a boarding pike. It wasn’t ‘I’ll have no more to do with Jack Pringle’ then. It was more t’other.”
“Well then, why be so mutinous?” the admiral demanded, his voice rising with frustration.
“Because you aggravate me,” Jack said simply, his eyes dark with defiance.
The cries of the mob grew louder, echoing through the trees like the wails of restless spirits. The group exchanged uneasy glances, their earlier bravado quickly fading in the face of the approaching chaos.
“Surely,” said O’Hara, his brow furrowed with worry, “Mr. Churchill has not mentioned anything about the duel that has taken place.”
“No, no,” the admiral replied, shaking his head. “But he was supposed to be here this morning. I understood he was to be here in his capacity as a surgeon, and yet I have not seen him. Have any of you?”
“No,” said Henry, his voice tight with tension.
“Then here he comes in the guise of a conservator of the public peace,” said Lazarus coldly. “However, I believe that his errand will be futile since the affair is, I presume, concluded.”
“Down with the vampire!” A cry rang out, slicing through the night air.
“Eh!” the admiral exclaimed, his eyes widening. “Eh, what’s that, eh? What did they say?”
“If you’ll listen, they’ll tell you soon enough, I’ll warrant,” Jack replied, a hint of a smirk on his lips.
“May be they will, and yet I’d like to know now,” the admiral muttered, his face pale.
Sir Ferdinand Lazarus exchanged a significant glance with O’Hara, then turned his gaze downward, waiting for the mob’s cries to be repeated.
“Down with the vampyre!” The cry resounded from all sides, the mob converging with torches and pitchforks, their faces twisted with fear and fury. “Burn, destroy, and kill the vampyre! No vampyre; burn him out; down with him; kill him!”
Among the chaos, Mr. Churchill’s voice rose in a desperate plea for reason. “Please, friends, show some restraint! Refrain from violence!” His earnestness was swallowed by the mob’s bloodthirsty roars.
Sir Ferdinand Lazarus turned pale, his composure shattered. Without a word, he spun on his heel and sprinted towards the dark, foreboding woods that separated him from his home. The shadows swallowed him, leaving the crowd in frenzied confusion.
Mr. O’Hara stood his ground beside Henry Bennett, the admiral, and Jack Pringle, their faces set in grim determination. The mob’s cries of vengeance grew louder, promising all manner of death to the hated vampyre.
As the enraged villagers closed in, let’s pause to understand the chain of events that had led to this perilous moment for Lazarus, a situation that had seemed unlikely until now.
Previously, we mentioned that only one person outside the Bennett family had any concrete knowledge about the strange happenings at the Hall—Mr. Churchill. Typically a man of discretion, Churchill was not prone to gossip. But even the best of men have their weaknesses.
In a moment of thoughtlessness, Churchill confided in his wife. Yes, this usually prudent man, from whom one would not expect such a lapse, told her everything about the vampyre. He cautioned her to keep it a secret, stressing the danger of making Lazarus a topic for idle chatter. Yet, asking Mrs. Churchill to keep a secret was as futile as whispering to a storm to cease its raging.
Predictably, Mrs. Churchill erupted with indignant declarations of secrecy. “Who am I to tell? Do I go around gossiping? When do I ever see anyone? Not once in a blue moon!” Yet, as soon as Mr. Churchill left the house, she invited her neighbors over for tea, the news burning on her tongue.
Now, back in the clearing, the situation grew more dire. Henry Bennett tightened his grip on his pistol, his eyes scanning the approaching mob. “We must stand firm,” he said, his voice steely.
“Indeed,” O’Hara agreed, though worry etched his features. “This madness cannot go unchecked.”
The admiral, ever the man of action, bellowed, “Steady, lads! We won’t be moved by this rabble!”
Jack Pringle, ever the sailor, smirked. “Looks like we’ve got a squall on our hands, Admiral. Shall we ride it out?”
The noise of the approaching crowd grew louder, a tempest of human voices and crude weapons. From his vantage point on the hillock, Jack Pringle waved frantically. “Damnation! They’re coming fast, too late to stop the sport now. Hilloa! Hurrah!”
“What’s all that about, Jack?” the admiral shouted, huffing as he climbed the rise. “What’s the squall about?”
“Just a few villagers, riled up like a nest of hornets,” Jack replied, grinning.
“Oh, my eyes! Wouldn’t a broadside set ’em flying, Jack?” the admiral chuckled darkly.
“Aye, just like those Frenchmen you ‘murdered’ on the Big Thunderer,” Jack retorted.
“I murdered them, you rascal?” the admiral barked.
“Yes, about five hundred,” Jack said coolly.
“They were only shot,” the admiral countered, bristling.
“They were killed; only your conscience makes it uncomfortable,” Jack replied nonchalantly.
“You rascal—villain! You ought to be keel-hauled and well payed,” the admiral spat.
“Aye; you’re paid, and paid off as an old hulk,” Jack shot back, unperturbed.
“Damn you—you—you—oh! I wish I had you on board ship; I’d make your lubberly carcass like a Union Jack, full of red and blue stripes.”
“Oh, it’s all very well; but if you don’t take to your heels, you’ll have all the old women in the village whacking you. You’d better port your helm and about ship, or you’ll be keel-hauled.”
“Damn your—”
“What’s the matter?” O’Hara inquired as he arrived, his breath coming in short gasps.
“What’s the cause of all the noise we have heard?” Sir Ferdinand asked, his tone dripping with disdain. “Has some village festival spontaneously burst forth among the rustics of this place?”
“I cannot tell the cause of it,” Henry replied, his voice tense. “But they seem to be coming toward this place.”
“Indeed!” Sir Ferdinand’s eyes gleamed with curiosity.
“I think so too,” O’Hara agreed, his concern deepening.
“With what object?” Sir Ferdinand demanded, his gaze sharp and probing.
“No peaceable one,” Henry observed grimly. “For, as far as I can see, they are moving as if to enclose something or intercept somebody.”
“Indeed! But why come here?” Sir Ferdinand’s voice was a cold whisper.
“If I knew that, I would have at once told the cause,” Henry replied, frustration edging his words.
The air crackled with tension as the enraged crowd surged forward, their voices a cacophony of hatred and fear. “Down with the vampyre!” echoed from all sides, the words dripping with venom and menace. “Burn, destroy, kill the vampyre! No mercy, burn him out, down with him, kill him!”
Amidst the chaos, Mr. Churchill’s voice rang out, a desperate plea for reason amidst the madness. He implored them to show restraint, to refrain from violence and bloodshed.
Sir Ferdinand Lazarus, his face drained of color, turned abruptly and darted towards the safety of the looming woods, his own house beckoning from beyond the trees. He paid no heed to the frenzied crowd, leaving them in a state of turmoil and confusion.
Meanwhile, Mr. O’Hara stood firm alongside Henry Bennett, the admiral, and Jack Pringle, watching as the mob drew closer, their cries of vengeance and death growing louder and more terrifying with each step.
As the enraged townspeople approached, their fury palpable in the air, it became clear how swiftly circumstances had spiraled into danger for Lazarus, a danger that had seemed unimaginable until that very moment.
It all stemmed from a lapse in discretion, a moment of weakness in the otherwise composed Mr. Churchill. He, the one person with concrete knowledge of the mysterious happenings at the Hall, had confided in his wife—a breach of secrecy that proved catastrophic.
In a moment of thoughtlessness, Mr. Churchill had revealed the truth about the vampyre to his wife, forgetting the potential consequences of such loose talk. Despite cautioning her to keep it hushed, his words were no match for her natural inclination towards gossip.
Mrs. Churchill, far from keeping the secret, indulged in the typical denials of gossip mongering. She protested, “Who am I to spread tales? Do I go about blabbing? When have I ever been seen gossiping? Rarely, if ever!” Yet, as soon as Mr. Churchill left, she eagerly invited the neighbors over for tea, unable to resist the allure of sharing the scandalous news.
Under a veil of secrecy, sixteen ladies were privy to the chilling details of Flora Bennett’s encounter with the vampire, along with the damning evidence pointing to Sir Ferdinand Lazarus as the sinister culprit.
As word spread like wildfire, multiplying with each whispered conversation, the entire town soon buzzed with the sinister tale. The morning before the fateful duel crackled with an unusual energy. Streets were abuzz with hushed conversations and animated gestures, a tangible tension in the air.
Mr. Churchill, blissfully unaware of the brewing storm, retired to bed the previous night, puzzled by the town’s unusual fervor. Little did he know that the town had chosen to honor him before their planned confrontation with the vampire.
At dawn’s early light, a raucous mob gathered outside Churchill’s residence, erupting into thunderous applause that rudely jolted him from his slumber. Bewildered, he turned to his wife, who feigned ignorance with practiced ease.
“What’s all that noise?” Churchill exclaimed, his senses rattled by the clamor.
“Oh, just a little something outside,” his wife replied nonchalantly.
“A little something? It sounded like the house was about to collapse!”
“It’s nothing to concern ourselves with,” she dismissed.
“But it might be important! I can’t just ignore it. Something’s wrong.”
As the tumult below continued, Churchill dressed hastily, spurred on by the escalating chaos outside.
Then, amidst the clamor, a cry rang out, “Down with the vampire!”
Realization dawned on Churchill, and he turned to his wife accusingly, “You’ve been spreading rumors about Sir Ferdinand Lazarus, causing all this chaos!”
“Gossiping? Me?” she feigned innocence. “It’s always my fault, isn’t it?”
“Did you or did you not?”
“I haven’t spoken to anyone about it.”
Frustrated, Churchill hurried downstairs, hoping to quell the crowd and still make it to the duel on time.
As he stepped into the street, he was greeted with cheers, mistaken for a supporter in their quest against Lazarus. The mob, armed and fervent, surged forward, chanting their intent to burn the vampire.
“Stop!” Churchill pleaded, desperation in his voice. “This madness will only lead to trouble. Return home before it’s too late!”
The advice fell on deaf ears, the mob unyielding in their fervor as they moved towards Sir Ferdinand Lazarus’s ominous abode. The town’s supposed authorities, though stirred by alarm, found themselves powerless against the overwhelming rage of the crowd. In a disorderly procession, they marched with vengeance on their lips, directed at Lazarus the vampyre.
Mr. Churchill, torn between guilt and a sense of responsibility, joined the throng. Despite knowing the futility of his attempts to quell the violence, he couldn’t bear to stay away from the chaos he inadvertently sparked. As they approached Lazarus’s residence, Churchill desperately tried to reason with the mob, hoping to divert their wrath.
Driven by the force of the crowd, Churchill found himself atoning for his errors, both mentally and physically, regretting the moment he confided in his wife. It’s worth noting, however, that this incident doesn’t speak to the general nature of sharing secrets with women. History has shown the remarkable discretion and tact with which most women handle such confidences. Alas, Mr. Churchill encountered a rare exception in his matrimonial journey, a fact he now ruefully acknowledged.