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rugged Scottish face, the latent power conveyed in his whole
bearing. He was no demagogue, he never flattered the people; he
preached indeed a somewhat severe creed, but, even in his sternest
mood, the hold he got over the people, the power he had of raising
the most degraded to a higher level was marvelous. It was not
likely, however, that his protest of today would lead to anything
but a free fight. If he could make himself effectually heard, he
cared very little for what followed. It was necessary that a
protest should be made, and he was the right man to make it;
therefore come ill or well, he would go through with it, and, if he
escaped with his life so much the better!
The meeting began. A moderate speaker was heard without
interruption, but the instant Raeburn stood up, a chorus of yells
arose. For several minutes he made no attempt to speak; but his
dignity seemed to grow in proportion with the indignities offered
him. He stood there towering above the crowd like a rock of
strength, scanning the thousands of faces with the steady gaze of
one who, in thinking of the progress of the race, had lost all
consciousness of his own personality. He had come there to protest
against injustice, to use his vast strength for others, to spend
and be spent for millions, to die if need be! Raeburn was made of
the stuff of which martyrs are made; standing there face to face
with an angry crowd, which might at any moment break loose and
trample him to death or tear him to pieces, his heart was
nevertheless all aglow with the righteousness of his cause, with
the burning desire to make an availing protest against an evil
which was desolating thousands of homes.
The majesty of his calmness began to influence the mob; the hisses
and groans died away into silence, such comparative silence, that
is, as was compatible with the greatness of the assembly. Then
Raeburn braced himself up; dignified before, he now seemed even
more erect and stately. The knowledge that for the moment he had
that huge crowd entirely under control was stimulating in the
highest degree. In a minute his stentorian voice was ringing out
fearlessly into the vast arena; thousands of hearts were vibrating
to his impassioned appeal. To each one it seemed as if he
individually were addressed.
You who call yourselves Englishmen, I come to appeal to you today!
You, who call yourselves freemen, I come to tell you that you are
acting like slaves.
Then with rare tact, he alluded to the strongest points of the
British character, touching with consummate skill the vulnerable
parts of his audience. He took for granted that their aims were

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