Chippinge Borough

  XVII

  THE CHIPPINGE ELECTION

  The great day on which the Borough of Chippinge was to give its vote,Aye or No, Reform or No Reform, the Rule of the Few or the Rule of theMany, was come; and in the large room on the first floor of the WhiteLion were assembled a score of persons deeply interested in the issue.Those who had places at the three windows were gazing on what wasgoing forward in the space below; and it was noticeable that while thetwo or three who remained in the background talked and joked, thesewere silent; possibly because the uproar without made hearingdifficult. The hour was early, the business of the day was to come,but already the hub-bub was indescribable. Nor was that all; everyminute some missile, a much enduring cabbage-stalk, or a deadcat in Tory colours, rose to a level with the windows, hovered, andsank--amid a storm of groans or cheers. For the most part, indeed,these missiles fell harmless. But that the places of honour at thewindows were not altogether places of safety was proved by a couple ofshattered panes, as well as by the sickly hue of some among thespectators.

  Nearly all who had attended the Vermuyden dinner were in the room.But, for certain, things which had worn one aspect across themahogany, wore another now. At the table old and young had made lightof the shoving and mauling and drubbing through which they had forcedtheir way to the good things before them; they had even made a jest ofthe bit of a rub they were likely to have on the polling day. Now, thesight of the noisy crowd which filled the open space, from the head ofthe High Street to the wall of the Abbey, and from the Vineyard eastof it, almost to the West Port--made their bones ache. They looked,even the boldest, at one another. The heart of Dewell, the barber, wasin his boots; the rector stared aghast; and Mowatt, the barrister,Arthur Vaughan's ill-found friend, wished for once that he was on thevulgar side.

  True, the doors of the White Lion were guarded by a sturdy phalanx ofVermuyden lads; mustered with what difficulty and kept together bywhat arguments, White best knew. But what were two or three score,however faithful, and however strong, against the hundreds andthousands who swayed and cheered and groaned before the Inn? Whoswarmed upon the old town-cross until they hid every inch of thecrumbling stonework; who clung to every niche and buttress of theAbbey; and from whose mass as from a sea the solitary church spirerose like some lighthouse cut off by breakers? Who, here, forgetful oftheir Wiltshire birth cheered the Birmingham tub-thumper to the echo,and there, roared stern assent to the wildest statements of thePolitical Union?

  True, a dozen banners and thrice as many flags gave something of afestive air to the scene. But the timid who tried to draw solace fromthese retreated appalled by the daring "Death or Freedom!" inscribedon one banner: or the scarcely less bold "The Sovereign People," whichbellied above the clothiers. The majority of the placards bore nothingworse than the watchword of the party: "The Bill, the whole Bill, andnothing but the Bill!" or "Retrenchment and Reform!" or--in referenceto the King--"God bless the two Bills!" But for all that, Dewell, thebarber--and some more who would not have confessed it--wished the daywell over and no bones broken! A great day for Chippinge, but a day onwhich many an old score was like to be paid, many a justice to hearthe commonalty's opinion of him, many a man who had thriven under theold rule, to read the writing on the wall!

  Certainly nothing like the spectacle visible from the White Lionwindows had been seen in Chippinge within living memory. The Abbey,indeed, which had seen the last of the mitred Abbots pass out--shornof his strength, and with weeping townsfolk about him in lieu ofbelted knights--that pile, stately in its ruin, which had witnessed arevolution greater even than this which impended, and more tragic,might have viewed its pair, might have seen its precincts seethe asthey seethed now. But no living man. Nor did those who scanned thecrowd from the White Lion find aught to lessen its terrors. Therewere, indeed, plenty of decent, respectable people in the crowd, who,though they were set on gaining their rights, had no notion ofviolence. But wood burns when it is kindled: and here at the corner ofthe Heart and Hand, the Whig headquarters, was a spark like to lightthe fire--Boston, the bruiser, and a dozen of his fellows; men whowere, one and all, the idols of the yokels who stood about them andstared. Pybus, who had brought them hither, was not to be seen; he wasweaving his spells in the Heart and Hand. But Mr. Williams, White-HatWilliams, the richest man in Chippinge, who, voteless, had only livedof late to see this day--he was here at the head of his clothmen, andas fierce as the poorest. And half-a-dozen lesser men there were ofthe same kind; sallow Blackford, the Methodist, the fugleman of everydissenter within ten miles; and two or three small lawyers whom thelandlords did not employ, and two or three apothecaries who were inthe same case. With these were one or two famished curates, withSydney Smith for their warranty, and his saying about DamePartington's Mop and the Atlantic on their lips; and a sprinkling ofspouters from the big towns--men who had the glories of Orator Huntand William Cobbett before their eyes. And everywhere, working in themass like yeast, moved a score of bitter malcontents--whom the oldsystem had bruised under foot--poachers whom Sir Robert had jailed, orthe lovers of maids as frail as fair, or labourers whom the Poor Lawshad crushed--a score of malcontents whose grievances long muttered inpothouses now flared to light and cried for vengeance. In a word,there were the elements of mischief in the crowd: and under thesurface an ugly spirit. Even the most peaceable were grim, knowing itwas now or never. So that the faces at the White Lion windows grewlonger as their owners gazed and listened.

  "I don't know what's come to the people!" the Rector bawled, turningabout to make himself heard by his neighbour. "Eh, what?"

  "I'd like to see Lord Grey hung!" answered Squire Rowley, his facepurple. "And Lord Lansdowne with him! What do you say, sir?" toSergeant Wathen.

  "Fortunate a show of hands don't carry it!" the Sergeant cried,shrugging his shoulders with an assumption of easiness.

  "Carry it? Of course we'll carry it!" the Squire replied wrathfully."I suppose two and two still make four!"

  Isaac White, who was whispering with a man in a corner of the room,wished that he was sure of that; or, rather, that three and two madesix. But the Squire was continuing. "Bah!" he cried in disgust. "Givethese people votes? Look at 'em! Look at 'em, sir! Votes indeed! Votesindeed! Give 'em oakum, I say!"

  He forgot that nine-tenths of those below were as good as the votersat his elbow, who were presently to return two members for Chippinge.Or rather, it did not occur to him, good old Tory as he was, andconvinced,

  _'Twas the Jacobins brought every mischief about_,

  that Dewell's vote was Dewell's, or Annibal's Annibal's.

  Meanwhile, "I wish we were safe at the hustings!" young Mowatt shoutedin the ear of the man who stood in front of him.

  The man chanced to be Cooke, the other candidate. He turned. "At thehustings?" he said irascibly. "Do you mean, sir, that we are expectedto fight our way through that rabble?"

  "I am afraid we must," Mowatt answered.

  "Then it--has been d----d badly arranged!" retorted the outragedCooke, who never forgot that as he paid well for his seat it ought tobe a soft one. "Go through this mob, and have our heads broken?"

  The faces of those who could hear him grew longer. "And it wants onlyfive minutes of ten," complained a third. "We ought to be going now."

  "D----n me, but suppose they don't let us go!" cried Cooke. "Badlyarranged! I should think it is, sir! D----d badly arranged! Thehustings should have been on this side."

  But hitherto the hustings had been at Chippinge a matter of form, andit had not occurred to anyone to alter their position--cheek by jowlwith the Whig headquarters, but divided by seventy yards of seethingmob from the White Lion. However, White, on an appeal being made tohim, put a better face on the matter. "It's all right, gentlemen," hesaid, "it's all right! If they have the hustings, we have thereturning officer, and they can do nothing without us. I've seen Mr.Pybus, and I have his safe conduct for our party to go to thehustings."

/>   But it is hard to satisfy everybody, and at this there was a freshoutcry. "A safe conduct?" cried the Squire, redder about the gillsthan before. "For shame, sir! Are we to be indebted to the other sidefor a safe conduct! I never heard of such a thing!"

  "I quite agree with you," cried the Rector. "Quite! I protest, Mr.White, against anything of the kind."

  But White was unmoved. "We've got to get our voters there," he said."Sir Robert will be displeased, I know, but----"

  "Never was such a thing heard of!"

  "No, sir, but never was such an election," White answered with spirit.

  "Where is Sir Robert?"

  "He'll be here presently," White replied. "He'll be here presently.Anyway, gentlemen," he continued, "we had better be going down to thehall. In a body, gentlemen, if you please, and voters in the middle.And keep together, if you please. A little shouting," he addedcheerfully, "breaks no bones. We can shout too!"

  The thing was unsatisfactory, and without precedent; nay, humiliating.But there seemed to be nothing else for it. As White said, thiselection was not as other elections; Bath was lost, and Bristol, too,it was whispered; the country was gone mad. And so, frowning andill-content, the magnates trooped out, and led by White began todescend the stairs. There was much confusion, one asking if theAlderman was there, another demanding to see Sir Robert, here a mangrumbling about White's arrangements, there a man silent over thediscovery, made perhaps for the first time, that here was like to bean end of old Toryism and the loaves and the fishes it had dispensed.

  In the hall where the party was reinforced by a crowd of their smallersupporters a man plucked White's sleeve and drew him aside. "She's outnow!" he whispered. "Pybus has left two with him and they won't leavehim for me. But if you went and ordered them out there's a chancethey'd go, and----"

  "The doctor's not there?"

  "No, and Pillinger's well enough to come, if you put it strong. He'safraid of his wife and they've got him body and soul, but----"

  White cast a despairing eye on the confusion about him. "How can Icome?" he muttered. "I must get these to the poll first."

  "Then you'll never do it!" the man retorted. "There'll be no comingand going, to-day, Mr. White, you take it from me. Now's the timewhile they're waiting for you in front. You can slip out at the backand bring him in and take him with you. It's the only way, so help me!They're in that temper we'll be lucky if we're all alive to-morrow!"

  The man was right; and White knew it, yet he hesitated. If he had hadan _aide_ fit for the task, the thing might be done. But to gohimself--he on whom everything fell! He reflected. Possibly ArthurVaughan might not vote for the enemy after all. But if he did, SirRobert would poll only five to six, and be beaten! Unless he polledPillinger, when the returning officer's vote, of which he was sure,would give him the election. Pillinger's vote, therefore, was vital;everything turned upon it. And he determined to go. His absence wouldonly cause a little delay, and he must risk that. He slipped away.

  He was missed at once, and the discovery redoubled the confusion. Oneasked where he was, and another where Sir Robert was; while Cooke intones louder and more irritable than was prudent found fresh fault,and wished to heaven that he had never seen the place. Long accustomedto one-sided contests of which both parties knew the issue, the Torymanagers were helpless; they were aware that the hour had struck, andthat they were expected, but without White they were uncertain how toact. Some cried that White had gone on, and that they should follow;some that Sir Robert was to meet them at the hustings, others thatthey might as well be home as waiting there! While the babel withoutdeafened and distracted them. At last, without order given, they foundthemselves moving out.

  Their reception did not clear their brains. Such a roar of execrationas greeted them had never been heard in Chippinge: the hair on Dewell,the barber's, head stood up, the Alderman's checks grew pale, Cookedropped his cane, the stoutest flinched. Changed indeed were the timesfrom those a year or two past when their exit had been greeted bysycophantic cheers, or, at worst, by a little good-humoured jesting!Now the whole multitude in the open, not in one part, but in everypart, knew as by instinct of their setting forth, brandished on theinstant a thousand arms at them, deafened them with a thousand voices,demanded monotonously "The Bill! The Bill!" Nor had the demonstrationstopped there, but for the intervention of a body of a hundred Whigstalwarts who, posting themselves on the flanks of the deridedprocession, conferred on its slow march an ignoble safety.

  No wonder that many a one who found himself thus guarded rubbed hiseyes. The times were changed indeed! No more despotism of Squire andParson, no more monopoly of places, no more nominated members, no moreelections that did but mock men who had no share in them, no more"Cripples," no more snug jobs! The Tories might agree with Mr. Fudge

  _That this passion for roaring had come in of late Since the rabble all tried for a voice in the State_,

  and foretell the ruinous outcome of it. But the thing was, themany-headed, the many-handed had them in its grip. They must gomeekly, or not at all; with visions of French fish-fags andguillotines before their eyes, and wondering, most of them--as theytried to show a bold front, tried to wave their banners and give someanswering shout to the sea that beat upon them--how they would gethome again with whole skins!

  Perhaps there was only one of them who never had that thought; thoughhe, alone of them all, was unaware of the precautions taken for hissafety. That was Sir Robert Vermuyden, the master of all, the patron,the Borough-monger! Attended by Bob Flixton, who had come with himfrom Bristol to see the fun--and whose voice it will be rememberedVaughan had overheard at Stapylton the evening before--and by two orthree other guests, he had entered the White Lion from the rear;arriving in time to fall in--somewhat surprised at his supporters'precipitation--at the tail of the procession. The moment he wasrecognised by the crowd he was greeted with a roar of "Down with theBorough-monger!" that fairly appalled his companions. But he faced itcalmly, imperturbably, quietly; a little paler, a little prouder, anda little sterner perhaps than usual, but with a gleam in his eyes thathad not been seen in them for years. For answer to all he smiled witha curling lip: and it is probable that as much as any hour in his lifehe enjoyed this hour, which put him to the test before those over whomhe had ruled so long. His caste might be passing, the days of hispower might be numbered, the waves of democracy might be rising aboutthe system in which he believed the safety of England to lie; but noman should see him falter. No veteran of the old noblesse in dayswhich Sir Robert could remember had gone to his fate more proudly thanthe English patrician was prepared to go to his, ay, and though worsethan the guillotine awaited him.

  His contemptuous attitude, his fearless bearing, impressed the crowd,appreciative at bottom, of courage. And presently, where he turned hiscold, smiling eyes they gaped instead of hissing: and one here andthere under the magic of his look doffed hat or carried hand toforehead, and henceforth was mute. And so great is the sympathy of allparts of a mob that this silence spread quickly, mysteriously, atlast, wholly. So that when he, last of his party, stepped on thehustings, there was for a moment a complete stillness; a stillness ofexpectation, while he looked round; such a stillness as startled theleaders of the opposition. It could not be--it could not be, thatafter all, the old lion would prove too much for them!

  White-Hat Williams roared aloud in his rage. "Up hats and shout,lads," he yelled, "or by G--d the d----d Tories will do us after all!Are you afraid of them, you lubbers! Shout, lads, shout!"