The Newcomes

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