his side, and was most affable and active; the two parties would often
meet nose to nose in the same street, and their retainers exchange looks
of defiance. With Mr. Potts of the Independent, a big man, on his left;
with Mr. Frederick, a still bigger man, on his right; his own trusty
bamboo cane in his hand, before which poor Barnes had shrunk abashed ere
now, Colonel Newcome had commonly the best of these street encounters,
and frowned his nephew Barnes, and Barnes's staff, off the pavement. With
the non-electors the Colonel was a decided favourite; the boys invariably
hurrayed him; whereas they jeered and uttered ironical cries after poor
Barnes, asking, "Who beat his wife? Who drove his children to the
workhouse?" and other unkind personal questions. The man upon whom the
libertine Barnes had inflicted so cruel an injury in his early days, was
now the Baronet's bitterest enemy. He assailed him with curses and
threats when they met, and leagued his brother-workmen against him. The
wretched Sir Barnes owned with contrition that the sins of his youth
pursued him; his enemy scoffed at the idea of Barnes's repentance; he was
not moved at the grief, the punishment in his own family, the humiliation
and remorse which the repentant prodigal piteously pleaded. No man was
louder in his cries of mea culpa than Barnes: no man professed a more
edifying repentance. He was hat in hand to every black-coat, established
or dissenting. Repentance was to his interest, to be sure, but yet let us
hope it was sincere. There is some hypocrisy, of which one does not like
even to entertain the thought; especially that awful falsehood which
trades with divine truth, and takes the name of Heaven in vain.
The Roebuck Inn at Newcome stands in the market-place, directly facing
the King's Arms, where, as we know, Colonel Newcome and uncompromising
toleration held their headquarters. Immense banners of blue and yellow
floated from every window of the King's Arms, and decorated the balcony
from which the Colonel and the assistants were in the habit of addressing
the multitude. Fiddlers and trumpeters, arrayed in his colours, paraded
the town and enlivened it with their melodious strains. Other trumpeters
and fiddlers, bearing the true-blue cockades and colours of Sir Barnes
Newcome, Bart., would encounter the Colonel's musicians, on which
occasions of meeting, it is to be feared, small harmony was produced.
They banged each other with their brazen instruments. The warlike
drummers thumped each other's heads in lieu of the professional
sheepskin. The townboys and street-blackguards rejoiced in these combats,
and exhibited their valour on one side or the other. The Colonel had to
pay a long bill for broken brass when he settled the little accounts of
the election.
In after times, F. B. was pleased to describe the circumstances of a
contest in which he bore a most distinguished part. It was F. B.'s
opinion that his private eloquence brought over many waverers to the
Colonel's side, and converted numbers of the benighted followers of Sir
Barnes Newcome. Bayham's voice was indeed magnificent, and could be heard
from the King's Arm's balcony above the shout and roar of the multitude,
the gongs and bugles of the opposition bands. He was untiring in his
oratory--undaunted in the presence of the crowds below. He was immensely
popular, F. B. Whether he laid his hand upon his broad chest, took off
his hat and waved it, or pressed his blue and yellow ribbons to his
bosom, the crowd shouted, "Hurra: silence! bravo! Bayham for ever!" "They
would have carried me in triumph," said F. B.; "if I had but the
necessary qualification I might be member for Newcome this day or any
other I chose."
I am afraid in this conduct of the Colonel's election Mr. Bayham resorted
to acts of which his principal certainly would disapprove, and engaged
auxiliaries whose alliance was scarcely creditable. Whose was the hand
which flung the potato which struck Sir Barnes Newcome, Bart., on the
nose as he was haranguing the people from the Roebuck? How came it that
whenever Sir Barnes and his friends essayed to speak, such an awful
yelling and groaning took place in the crowd below, that the words of
those feeble orators were inaudible? Who smashed all the front windows of
the Roebuck? Colonel Newcome had not words to express his indignation at
proceedings so unfair. When Sir Barnes and staff were hustled in the
market-place and most outrageously shoved, jeered, and jolted, the
Colonel from the King's Arms organised a rapid sally, which he himself
headed with his bamboo cane; cut out Sir Barnes and his followers from
the hands of the mob, and addressed those ruffians in a noble speech, of
which bamboo-cane--Englishman--shame--fair-play, were the most emphatic
expressions. The mob cheered Old Tom as they called him--they made way
for Sir Barnes, who shrunk pale and shuddering back into his hotel again
--who always persisted in saying that that old villain of a dragoon had
planned both the assault and the rescue.
"When the dregs of the people--the scum of the rabble, sir, banded
together by the myrmidons of Sir Barnes Newcome, attacked us at the
King's Arms, and smashed ninety-six pounds' worth of glass at one volley,
besides knocking off the gold unicorn head and the tail of the British
lion; it was fine, sir," F. B. said, "to see how the Colonel came
forward, and the coolness of the old boy in the midst of the action. He
stood there in front, sir, with his old hat off, never so much as once
bobbing his old head, and I think he spoke rather better under fire than
he did when there was no danger. Between ourselves, he ain't much of a
speaker, the old Colonel; he hems and haws, and repeats himself a good
deal. He hasn't the gift of natural eloquence which some men have,
Pendennis. You should have heard my speech, sir, on the Thursday in the
Town Hall--that was something like a speech. Potts was jealous of it, and
always reported me most shamefully."
In spite of his respectful behaviour to the gentlemen in black coats, his
soup-tickets and his flannel-tickets, his own pathetic lectures and his
sedulous attendance at other folk's sermons, poor Barnes could not keep
up his credit with the serious interest at Newcome, and the
meeting-houses and their respective pastors and frequenters turned their
backs upon him. The case against him was too flagrant: his enemy, the
factory-man, worked it with an extraordinary skill, malice, and
pertinacity. Not a single man, woman, or child in Newcome but was made
acquainted with Sir Barnes's early peccadillo. Ribald ballads were howled
through the streets describing his sin, and his deserved punishment. For
very shame, the reverend dissenting gentlemen were obliged to refrain
from voting for him; such as ventured, believing in the sincerity of his
repentance, to give him their voices, were yelled away from the
polling-places. A very great number who would have been his friends,
were compelled to bow to decency and public opinion, and supported
the Colonel.
&
nbsp; Hooted away from the hustings, and the public places whence the rival
candidates addressed the free and independent electors, this wretched and
persecuted Sir Barnes invited his friends and supporters to meet him at
the Athenaeum Room--scene of his previous eloquent performances. But,
though this apartment was defended by tickets, the people burst into it;
and Nemesis, in the shape of the persevering factory-man, appeared before
the scared Sir Barnes and his puzzled committee. The man stood up and
bearded the pale Baronet. He had a good cause, and was in truth a far
better master of debate than our banking friend, being a great speaker
amongst his brother-operatives, by whom political questions are
discussed, and the conduct of political men examined, with a ceaseless
interest and with an ardour and eloquence which are often unknown in what
is called superior society. This man and his friends round about him
fiercely silenced the clamour of "Turn him out," with which his first
appearance was assailed by Sir Barnes's hangers-on. He said, in the name
of justice he would speak up; if they were fathers of families and loved
their wives and daughters he dared them to refuse him a hearing. Did they
love their wives and their children? it was a shame that they should take
such a man as that yonder for their representative in Parliament. But the
greatest sensation he made was when, in the middle of his speech, after
inveighing against Barnes's cruelty and parental ingratitude, he asked,
"Where were Barnes's children?" and actually thrust forward two, to the
amazement of the committee and the ghastly astonishment of the guilty
Baronet himself.
"Look at them," says the man: "they are almost in rags, they have to put
up with scanty and hard food; contrast them with his other children, whom
you see lording in gilt carriages, robed in purple and fine linen, and
scattering mud from their wheels over us humble people as we walk the
streets; ignorance and starvation is good enough for these, for those
others nothing can be too fine or too dear. What can a factory-girl
expect from such a fine, high-bred, white-handed, aristocratic gentleman
as Sir Barnes Newcome, Baronet, but to be cajoled, and seduced, and
deserted, and left to starve! When she has served my lord's pleasure, her
natural fate is to be turned into the street; let her go and rot there
and her children beg in the gutter.
"This is the most shameful imposture," gasps out Sir Barnes, "these
children are not--are not----"
The man interrupted him with a bitter laugh. "No," he says; "they are not
his; that's true enough, friends. Its Tom Martin's girl and boy, a
precious pair of lazy little scamps. But, at least he thought they were
his children. See how much he knows about them! He hasn't seen his
children for years; he would have left them and their mother to starve,
and did, but for shame and fear. The old man, his father, pensioned them,
and he hasn't the heart to stop their wages now. Men of Newcome, will you
have this man to represent you in Parliament?" And the crowd roared "No;"
and Barnes and his shamefaced committee slunk out of the place, and no
wonder the dissenting clerical gentlemen were shy of voting for him.
A brilliant and picturesque diversion in Colonel Newcome's favour was due
to the inventive genius of his faithful aide-de-camp, F. B. On the
polling-day, as the carriages full of voters came up to the market-place,
there appeared nigh to the booths an open barouche, covered all over with
ribbon, and containing Frederick Bayham, Esq., profusely decorated with
the Colonel's colours, and a very old woman and her female attendant, who
were similarly ornamented. It was good old Mrs. Mason, who was pleased
with the drive and the sunshine, though she scarcely understood the
meaning of the turmoil, with her maid by her side, delighted to wear such
ribbons, and sit in such a post of honour. Rising up in the carriage,
F. B. took off his hat, bade his men of brass be silent, who were
accustomed to bray "See the Conquering Hero come," whenever the Colonel,
or Mr. Bayham, his brilliant aide-de-camp, made their appearance;--
bidding, we say, the musicians and the universe to be silent, F. B. rose,
and made the citizens of Newcome a splendid speech. Good old unconscious
Mrs. Mason was the theme of it, and the Colonel's virtues and faithful
gratitude in tending her. "She was his father's old friend. She was Sir
Barnes Newcome's grandfather's old friend. She had lived for more than
forty years at Sir Barnes Newcome's door, and how often had he been to
see her? Did he go every week? No. Every month? No. Every year? No. Never
in the whole course of his life had he set his foot into her doors!"
(Loud yells, and cries of 'Shame!') "Never had he done her one single act
of kindness. Whereas for years and years past, when he was away in India,
heroically fighting the battles of his country, when he was
distinguishing himself at Assaye, and--and--Mulligatawny, and
Seringapatam, in the hottest of the fight and the fiercest of the danger,
in the most terrible moment of the conflict, and the crowning glory of
the victory, the good, the brave, the kind old Colonel,--why should he
say Colonel? why should he not say Old Tom at once?" (immense roars of
applause) "always remembered his dear old nurse and friend. Look at that
shawl, boys, which she has got on! My belief is that Colonel Newcome took
that shawl in single combat, and on horseback, from the prime minister of
Tippoo Sahib." (Immense cheers and cries of 'Bravo, Bayham!') "Look at
that brooch the dear old thing wears!" (he kissed her hand whilst so
apostrophising her). "Tom Newcome never brags about his military
achievements, he is the most modest as well as the bravest man in the
world. What if I were to tell you that he cut that brooch from the throat
of an Indian rajah? He's man enough to do it." ('He is! he is!' from all
parts of the crowd.) "What, you want to take the horses out, do you?" (to
the crowd, who were removing those quadrupeds). "I ain't agoing to
prevent you; I expected as much of you. Men of Newcome, I expected as
much of you, for I know you! Sit still, old lady; don't be frightened,
ma'am: they are only going to pull you to the King's Arms, and show you
to the Colonel."
This, indeed, was the direction in which the mob (whether inflamed by
spontaneous enthusiasm, or excited by cunning agents placed amongst the
populace by F. B., I cannot say), now took the barouche and its three
occupants. With a myriad roar and shout the carriage was dragged up in
front of the King's Arms, from the balconies of which a most satisfactory
account of the polling was already placarded. The extra noise and
shouting brought out the Colonel, who looked at first with curiosity at
the advancing procession, and then, as he caught sight of Sarah Mason,
with a blush and a bow of his kind old head.
"Look at him, boys!" cried the enraptured F. B., pointing up to the old
man. "Look at him; the dear old boy! Isn't he an old trump? which will
you hav
e for your Member, Barnes Newcome or Old Tom?"
And as might be supposed, an immense shout of "Old Tom!" arose from the
multitude; in the midst of which, blushing and bowing still, the Colonel
went back to his committee-room: and the bands played "See the Conquering
Hero" louder than ever; and poor Barnes in the course of his duty having
to come out upon his balcony at the Roebuck opposite, was saluted with a
yell as vociferous as the cheer for the Colonel had been; and old Mrs.
Mason asked what the noise was about; and after making several vain
efforts, in dumb show, to the crowd, Barnes slunk back into his hole
again as pale as the turnip which was flung at his head: and the horses
were brought, and Mrs. Mason driven home; and the day of election came to
an end.
Reasons of personal gratitude, as we have stated already, prevented His
Highness the Prince de Moncontour from taking a part in this family
contest. His brethren of the House of Higg, however, very much to
Florac's gratification, gave their second votes to Colonel Newcome,
carrying with them a very great number of electors: we know that in the
present Parliament, Mr. Higg and Mr. Bunce sit for the borough of
Newcome. Having had monetary transactions with Sir Barnes Newcome, and
entered largely into railway speculations with him, the Messrs. Higg had
found reason to quarrel with the Baronet; accuse him of sharp practices
to the present day, and have long stories to tell which do not concern us
about Sir Barnes's stratagems, grasping, and extortion. They their
following, deserting Sir Barnes, whom they had supported in previous
elections, voted for the Colonel, although some of the opinions of that
gentleman were rather too extreme for such sober persons.
Not exactly knowing what his politics were when he commenced the canvass,
I can't say to what opinions the poor Colonel did not find himself
committed by the time when the election was over. The worthy gentleman
felt himself not a little humiliated by what he had to say and to unsay,
by having to answer questions, and submit to familiarities, to shake
hands which, to say truth, he did not care for grasping at all. His
habits were aristocratic; his education had been military; the kindest
and simplest soul alive, he yet disliked all familiarity, and expected
from common people the sort of deference which he had received from his
men in the regiment. The contest saddened and mortified him; he felt that
he was using wrong means to obtain an end that perhaps was not right (for
so his secret conscience must have told him); he was derogating from his
own honour in tampering with political opinions, submitting to
familiarities, condescending to stand by whilst his agents solicited
vulgar suffrages or uttered claptraps about retrenchment and reform. "I
felt I was wrong," he said to me, in after days, "though I was too proud
to own my error in those times, and you and your good wife and my boy
were right in protesting against that mad election." Indeed, though we
little knew what events were speedily to happen, Laura and I felt very
little satisfaction when the result of the Newcome election was made
known to us, and we found Sir Barnes Newcome third, and Col. Thomas
Newcome second upon the poll.
Ethel was absent with her children at Brighton. She was glad, she wrote,
not to have been at home during the election. Mr. and Mrs. C. were at
Brighton, too. Ethel had seen Mrs. C. and her child once or twice. It was
a very fine child. "My brother came down to us," she wrote, "after all
was over. He is furious against M. de Moncontour, who, he says, persuaded
the Whigs to vote against him, and turned the election."
CHAPTER LXX
Chiltern Hundreds
We shall say no more regarding Thomas Newcome's political doings; his
speeches against Barnes, and the Baronet's replies. The nephew was beaten