It was a great night at the Wilberforce Club, and the members mustered
in force. Numbers were unable to obtain admission, and the spaces
outside the room in which the club held its meetings were thronged by
working-men and lads, many of them members of the Wilberforce. These,
although disappointed at being shut out, did not give vent to their
feelings in the shape of grumbling, but good-humoredly accepted the
position, and split themselves into convenient knots for the purposes
of discussion.
The Wilberforce was a working-man's club, similar in its nature and
aims to the numerous institutions of a like character which exist in
the centres of labor in all the great towns and cities of the kingdom.
It commenced with small beginnings, the original number of members
being twelve, who met weekly at the lodgings of one or the other for
the purpose of discussing political matters affecting themselves. A
very short time passed before others made application to be allowed to
join the band of twelve, and then the idea was formed of organizing a
working-man's club, to be called the Wilberforce. The originator of
this movement was a man of strong opinions, by trade a carpenter. He
was a ready orator, and he ruled over his followers by force of this
gift, as well as by the superior knowledge he possessed of the
movements of the age in which he lived. It may not be uninteresting to
place upon record a report of the meeting at which the club may have
said to have been born.
By consent of a licensed victualler it was held in a room in the
"Three Jolly Butcher Boys," a noted public-house in the neighborhood.
There were some thirty persons present, all humble, earnest,
hard-working laborers in different crafts. Mr. Bartholomew, the
carpenter and initiator of the movement, elected himself into the
chair.
"We are only a scattered body as yet," he said, "and none of us has
the proper authority to propose and second a chairman, so by your
leave--" He moved to the head of the table and seated himself. Drawing
out his two-foot rule he used it as a mace to rap the table.
"A dozen of us," he said, rising to his feet when all the others were
seated and silent, "have been meeting for a little while past at one
place and another, with a notion that opening our minds to each other
wouldn't do any harm. That has been proved; it has done good. There
ain't one of the dozen who don't understand the rights and wrongs of
things better than he did before. Now, this was no hole-and-corner
affair, and as it's got about, and as there's a wish of a good many
others to join us, why, I say, 'Join us and welcome.'"
There was a murmur of approval, and a general rapping of knuckles and
scraping of feet on the part of the original eleven.
"The more the merrier, I say," continued Mr. Bartholomew. "What we are
working for, or what we are going to work for, is the general good of
all alike--in a fair way, mind! Nothing wrong, nothing violent--"
"Hear, hear," from the auditors.
"Everything constitutional. When my wife doesn't agree with me, I
don't knock her down, as brutes do, I argue with her; if that don't
make her agree with me, I keep on arguing with her; and if she's that
obstinate that she won't agree with me even then, I go on arguing with
her; and the upshot of it is that I fairly wear her down, and in the
end she's bound to agree with me."
Murmurs of approval and a little laughter from the audience, with here
and there a _sotto-voce_ remark: "Bartholomew knows what he's about."
"Now," pursued Mr. Bartholomew, "that's what I call constitutional. I
don't mean to say that I ain't open to conviction myself; but when a
man knows he's right, all that he's got to do is to go ahead--always
in a constitutional way. Now there's the government--it's right, or
it's wrong. If it's right, let it remain as it is; if it's wrong, it's
got to be altered."
"It's wrong, that's what it is," blurted out a working-man.
"Not so fast, not so fast," said Mr. Bartholomew; "saying it's wrong
don't make it so. We've got to find it out by argument and open minds,
constitutionally, and that ain't a thing for to-night; and it ain't a
thing that can be settled in a day, or a week, or a month, or a
year. It'll take time, because--I don't mind confessing to you my
opinion--that what's got to be done is no trifling matter; it's a
mighty matter, mates, with kings and queens, and princes and
princesses, and prime-ministers and chancellors of the exchequer, all
mixed up in it. Do you know what I call those ladies and gentlemen,
mates? I call them the frillings. The solid mass, the real body, is
here." He gave the table a great thump with his fist.
"Bravo, Bartholomew!" from many voices. "We've got a man at the head
of us!"
The excitement was beginning to rise.
"You ain't got anybody at the head of you. All that sort of
thing--forming ourselves into an institution, election of officers,
and so on--has got to be done. We're just now having a little friendly
chat before dinner. Yes, mates, we are the solid body of the country,
and it has struck me for a long time past that the time has come for
us to make ourselves known and heard. I won't quite say that it's a
matter of mathematics, but it is a matter of numbers. Every man has
two arms and two legs--except those that's got wooden ones--a head to
think, and often think wrongly, mind you, a heart to love, and a
stomach to fill, which, if you don't fill, plays the very devil with
you. There's something in Coriolanus--"
"Where's that?" cried one, interrupting the other.
"'Where's that,' Bill?" echoed Mr. Bartholomew. "It ain't a 'where' at
all; it's a who. Coriolanus was a great general; and when the
institution is formed, which we have met to-night to form, I hope
you'll read about him in William Shakespeare; for what we're going to
have in that institution, besides other things that's got to be
settled, is books, mates."
"Hear, hear."
"And papers."
"Hear, hear."
"A little idea just comes to my mind. There's a good number of men in
the world pretty much like boxes, shut up tight, locked up tighter.
We're going to open those boxes; we're going to unlock 'em; we're
goin' to let panes of glass into 'em, that the light can be seen
through."
"Bravo! bravo! bravo!" from all parts of the room.
"Because, mates, don't you make any mistake. The fault doesn't lie
with the ladies and gentlemen I made mention of a minute or two ago,
it lies with us; and if we don't help ourselves--constitutionally,
mind--we can't expect anybody else to help us. _They're_ not wrong. I
don't blame 'em, much"--and there was a touch of humor in his manner
of uttering this small word which caused general laughter--"I blame
ourselves. I was saying that every man has the regulation number of
limbs and members, the regulation measure of appetite, the regulation
instincts, sentiments, and all that sort of thing, and I was going to
say, when I was interrupted, that you'll find something in Coriolanus
about the stomach which rather bears upon the point. I dare say there
are one or two in the room who'll remember my mentioning this at a
meeting before the last general election, when I spoke against the
Conservative candidate. It was a Conservative meeting, and the hall
was pretty well packed with one-siders, but the candidate--a
gentleman, mates--got me a fair hearing, and I was listened to. Yes,
you were there, and you"--pointing to two in the room who nodded
gravely. "Well, when I'd done about this Coriolanus and the stomach
business, up gets the Conservative candidate and says: 'I don't for a
moment doubt that our good friend, Mr. Bartholomew'--he knew my name;
I handed it up to him on paper, not having an engraved card--"
"Ha! ha! ha!" from the back of the room.
Mr. Bartholomew looked severely in that direction, and said:
"What are you ha-ha-ha-ing about? Do you think I want to make a point
against gentlemen who carry cards? You're mistaken, though perhaps I
too was wrong in the way I put it. 'I don't for a moment doubt,' said
the Conservative candidate, 'that our good friend, Mr. Bartholomew,
who I hope one day will blossom into a good Conservative'--between you
and me, mates, that will be never."
"Hear, hear."
"'I don't for a moment doubt that he is right about what he says of
Coriolanus and the application of it. I don't remember the lines
myself, but I will take them from him, and I will give him an answer
in an anecdote. There was a serpent once, a regulation serpent, a
twining, slimy, creeping, crawling reptile, with head and tail, and
all other necessary parts. Now, Mr. Bartholomew knows that it is a law
of nature for serpents that in going through life the head goes first.
I don't know exactly how old the serpent was when its tail ranged
itself upon what I may call the opposition side. It said to the head:
"Look here, I ain't going to be dragged about in this manner all day
long, and all night long, just where you like to take me. I won't
stand it. It's my _turn_ for an innings; fair play is fair play." All
the other parts of the serpent joined in the argument, and the tail
was so noisy and blustering that it carried along with it every bit of
the serpent but the head. Now, it unfortunately happened,' said the
Conservative candidate, 'that this particular head of this particular
serpent was weak-minded; anyhow, it was foolish enough to say: "Put it
to the vote, and I'll stand by it. You shall decide who goes first,
the tail or me." It was put to the vote, and it was decided by a large
majority that the tail was right, and that it ought to have an
innings. "Very well," says the head, I resign." Then the tail, crying,
"Come along," took command. But, my friends,' said the Conservative
candidate, 'you don't need to be told--though perhaps it will
enlighten Mr. Bartholomew--that the eyes of a serpent's body are in
its head, and not in its tail, and that as the tail dragged its way
along it couldn't see where it was going. It got into a prickly hedge,
and when the other portions of the body felt the sting and the pain
they cried out: "What are you about?" "Oh, that's nothing," answered
the tail, working its way out of the prickly hedge, I am new to the
business, that's all; you must put up with a mistake or two--that's
only fair, you know." "Yes, yes," said the other parts of the body;
"go on, go on." He did, and came to a part of the forest where there
was a smouldering fire. Straight into this fire crept the tail, and,
maddened with pain, crept farther into it, hoping to escape, and in
less than no time the tail and the other rebellious parts of the body
were burned to ashes. The head alone remained.'"
Mr. Bartholomew paused for a moment or two, and then said:
"I see some of you fidgeting at your pipes. Fill 'em and smoke 'em.
We're not regularly formed, and whether we shall always be at liberty
to smoke while we're talking is a matter for you to settle by and by."
The pipes being filled and lighted, Mr. Bartholomew went on.
"That was the story the Conservative candidate told, and it set the
packed meeting cheering and laughing to that degree that I couldn't
get in another word, and was supposed to be settled. But the
Conservative candidate made a great many serious mistakes in that
illustration. He intended to liken the government of England, and
everybody else in it, to one single being; whether it was beast, bird,
or fish don't matter, because it won't do, mates, because it doesn't
apply. True enough there must be a head to all constituted societies,
to all forms of government, but, mates--"
And here the speaker rested his two hands upon the table and bent
earnestly forward.
"We who are governed have eyes; we're not like the serpent's tail--we
can see where we're going. The road is stretched before us, and our
eyes are open. The serpent's tail not only had no eyes, he had no
brains--we have, and we can judge. The serpent's tail not only had no
eyes and no brains, it had no heart--we have, and we can see and
judge, and love and suffer and enjoy with as large a capacity as those
who govern us. I don't for one moment believe that the view the
Conservative candidate took--he didn't get in, you know, mates--"
"Ha, ha, ha!" from the audience.
"Is the view entertained by the Conservative party, the leading
members of which are far too sensible and clever to put forward such
narrow-minded theories. But it must never be forgotten that they're in
the main looking out more for themselves and for their own interests
than for us and ours. That's human nature, and I don't complain of it;
if I did, it would be in a measure like cutting the ground from under
our own feet, because one of the objects of this meeting--the
principal object, I may say--is to look after ourselves and our own
interests, which we've got the idea has been rather lost sight of.
Now, before I come to the wind-up of my speech--it has been a great
deal longer than I intended to make it--"
"Not a bit too long, Bart," was the general cry.
"Much obliged, mates. Before I come to the end of it, I want to
impress one thing upon you. All over the world there are to be found
men who go in for equality, with a capital E. Some of those men are
scholars, lots of 'em clever and talented; but, mates, they've got a
warp in their minds. Such a thing as equality ain't possible. If it
was possible to establish it at nine o'clock to-night, by nine o'clock
to-morrow morning it wouldn't exist. There must be different degrees
among human beings, there must be inequalities, like the very world we
live in, which, as we've been taught in school, resembles the outside
of an orange. But our argument is--because I suppose we're pretty well
agreed upon it--that the inequalities are now too great, and require
to be rubbed down a bit. It's a difficult question, and it's got to be
treated with good sense. And now, thanking you for your attention, and
the meeting being regularly opened, we'll proceed to business."
Mr. Bartholomew sat down amid a volley of applause, after which there
was a long silence, he being really the only practical man among them;
or, to speak more correctly, the only man who had practice in this
kind of movement, and knew how to conduct it.
"The first thing we've got to do, you know," he said, looking around,
"is to propose a resolution forming ourselves into a distinct body. As
the chairman of the meeting, I can't propose any resolution; it is for
one of you to do it."
"All right, chairman," said a bold boot and shoe maker, "I do it."
"What?" inquired Mr. Bartholomew.
"Propose it," said the bold boot and shoe maker.
"Propose what?" asked Mr. Bartholomew.
"That we're a distinct body," said the bold boot and shoe maker.
"I seconds it," said another boot and shoe maker, starting up, and
sinking instantly into his chair, covered with confusion. It was the
first public speech he had ever made.
"No, no, that won't do," said Mr. Bartholomew, "you must put it in
words--understandable words. You propose that we form ourselves into a
working-man's club. That's your proposition, ain't it?"
"That's it," said the bold boot and shoe maker.
"And you second it," said Mr. Bartholomew, looking at boot and shoe
maker No. 2, who faintly nodded. He had not the courage to speak
again.
"It is proposed by Mr. Richard Chappel," said Mr. Bartholomew, "boot
and shoe maker, and seconded by Mr. William Blackmore, that we form
ourselves into a working-man's club, we being all of us Liberals, and
our chief object being the political and social advancement of
working-men generally. Those in favor of the resolution signify it in
the usual manner by holding up their hands."
Every hand was held up.
"On the contrary," said the chairman.
Full half of those present held up their hands.
"No, no, no," cried the chairman, "there must be something wrong here.
You, Stokes, and you, Manning, and you, Bill Forbes, and you, William
Blackmore, who seconded the resolution, all voted for it, of course,
and now you vote against it. You can't vote two ways!"
Boot and shoe maker No. 2, with a white face, whispered something in a
neighbor's ear, who thereupon said:
"Blackmore says he always votes on the contrary. He does it at home."
"But that can't be here," said the chairman; "we must all vote one way
or the other. Are you in favor of this club?"
"Yes," every man cried. "Is there any one not in favor of it?"
"No," every man cried.
"Then it's carried," said the chairman, "unanimously. Now we must give
it a name."
Upon the face of every man present dwelt a pondering expression, the
general just interpretation of which would be vacuity. Half a dozen
put their fingers to their brows, but not one of them had a name to
propose.
The ever-ready chairman--and be it here remarked that Mr. Bartholomew
was as good-humored as he was apt--rose and said:
"It ain't the lightest of matters to give a fit name to such a club as
ours. I think I can suggest one."
"Bart's the cleverest chap in the country," said one of the audience.
"He ought to be prime-minister."
Mr. Bartholomew resumed.
"I don't throw it in your teeth, mates; it's only a matter of reading,
and I don't doubt in a year or two that some of you will know as much
as me, and a good deal more. I don't throw it in your teeth, I say,
that perhaps none of you ever heard the name of William Wilberforce."
They looked at each other and shook their heads.
"He wasn't a working-man, he was a gentleman with plenty of money;
born a gentleman, and bred at college. But, mates, he was a man who
saw things with a clear eye, and a clear heart that bled at the sight
of oppression, and with a mind steadfast enough to accomplish what it
was set upon. It is to William Wilberforce that we may say we owe--not
only we, but all mankind--the abolition of slavery."
Tremendous applause.
"I don't know how many years this grand gentleman worked for
it--worked and fought for it. He was beat over and over again in the
House of Commons and the House of Lords, but he stuck to his guns, and
on his death-bed he had the good news brought to him that the second
reading of the Abolition of Slavery Bill was carried. He was a man,
and every Englishman is proud of him. He was a man because he worked
and fought on the side of humanity, and if any one here will propose
that our club be called the 'Wilberforce Club' I don't think he could
do a much better day's work."
Up jumped a dozen and proposed it, and the chairman conducted the
question to an orderly issue. It was carried that the title of the
institution should be the "Wilberforce Club." Then, pioneered by Mr.
Bartholomew, other small matters of detail were discussed and settled.
Present subscription of members, one penny per week, and the first
week's subscription was paid into the hands of an elected treasurer.
Sub-committees were appointed to form rules for the guidance of the
club, and to look out for a suitable room in which to gather together.
And then the meeting broke up, satisfied and gratified with the work
it had done.