_THE POLLING AT PENTREATH_
Even Bride caught something of the prevailing excitement as the days
and weeks flew by, and nothing was spoken of, or thought of in the
world about her, but the coming election and the prospects of the
Reform party. The far West-Country might be a little long in growing
into the burning questions of the day, but once aroused, it could show
an amount of eagerness and enthusiasm not to be despised by busier
centres. Moreover, party and local feeling always runs very high in
out-of-the-world places, and many in and around Pentreath who cared but
little, and understood less, of the real point at issue, were keenly
excited over the coming contest on account of the exceptional nature it
presented.
Hitherto their member, Sir Roland Menteith, had been returned almost
without opposition. He was popular with all sections of the community,
and such opposition as he met with was of a kind sufficient to be
the excuse for unlimited treating and unlimited rowdyism on polling
day, without being enough to awaken the smallest amount of anxiety or
uncertainty as to the result of the struggle. But now all this was to
be changed, and as days and weeks rolled on, it became very evident
that there would be a decided and sharp contest; and although the
supporters of Sir Roland were fairly sanguine as to the result, the
election was not the foregone conclusion it had been in days of yore.
In the first place, there was already division in the camp; for so
soon as it became known that Sir Roland, whilst still professing Tory
principles, intended to give his adhesion to the bill which was before
the country for the reform of the franchise, a strong party, including
large numbers of wealthy men, at once seceded from him, and in a short
time it was announced that young Viscount Lanherne was coming forward
in the Tory interest to dispute the seat with Sir Roland; whilst in the
extreme Whig or Radical interest a candidate was forthcoming in the
person of Mr. Morval, a wealthy and influential middle-class man, whose
power and importance in the place had been steadily growing during the
past years, and who promised to bring a strong army of voters to the
poll when the day should come.
The defection of these old-fashioned and “rabid” Tories from the ranks
of Sir Roland was a serious blow, for hitherto he had always counted
securely upon every vote this section of the community had to give. It
was a distinct split in the ranks, and a very serious one. The young
Viscount, though personally popular in society, was only a lad fresh
from Oxford, and knew nothing of the bulk of his constituents. He had
practically no chance of success, yet greatly endangered Sir Roland’s
seat, and was in great danger of making it a present to the Radical
candidate. From a common-sense standpoint it was a grave error of
judgment, but when party feeling runs high, common-sense too often goes
to the wall. There was a large section in the county who absolutely
refused to give any vote to a man not pledged to fight the Reform
Bill tooth and nail. By this section Sir Roland was looked upon as a
turncoat and renegade; nor could the old-fashioned soundness of his
Conservative principles on other questions condone the fact that he
stood pledged to the support of this measure, which was looked upon as
the first step towards the overthrow of the existing constitution.
Neither did the Whig and Radical section trust the policy of Sir
Roland. They had too long been accustomed to regard him as the Tory
candidate to look upon him with favouring eyes now. In plain English,
the appearance of another Tory candidate in the field, pledged to the
old-fashioned Tory policy, had taken the wind out of his sails, and
made his position an anomalous one. He found himself in the quandary so
many do who try to adopt a moderate and liberal policy without giving
up altogether the older traditions in which they have been reared:
he was suspected and distrusted by a large section on both sides,
and regarded as one who was neither “fish, flesh, fowl, nor good red
herring,” a position not a little galling and irritating to a man who
had hitherto carried all before him with easy assurance.
The Penarvon interest was his, and that went a long way; and Eustace,
who worked most energetically on his committee, did all that one man
can do to ensure a victory. Eustace, however, was not always the best
of advocates, for though he had a wide popularity in certain classes,
he was very greatly suspected and distrusted in others, and those who
would most willingly have followed his lead were not of the class that
had votes to give.
Still Sir Roland was by no means out of heart as to the result. He had
a very large following of men of moderate opinions, and the support
of the Duke, who was greatly respected by the upper classes in the
neighbourhood, was the best guarantee he could possess that he was
not going to pursue a destructive and outrageous policy. Men who had
wavered at first and had heard with enthusiasm the news that Viscount
Lanherne was coming forward, began to think better of the matter after
reading some of Sir Roland’s manifestoes and hearing some of his
speeches. The young Viscount, though eager for the excitement of the
coming contest, and all on fire for the cause on which he had embarked,
was neither a man of experience nor knowledge, and he betrayed his
lack of many of the needful requirements of a politician whenever he
addressed a meeting or harangued a crowd. People began to take up the
name of “painted popinjay,” which had been freely flung at him by the
Radicals. It seemed somehow to fit the young spark, who was always
dressed in the tiptop of fashion, and whose face was as brightly tinted
as that of a girl.
Sir Roland had won for himself the name of “trimmer,” and found it
difficult to know what to call himself, since the name Tory was now
absorbed by the Viscount’s party, whilst the other opponent had taken
upon himself the name and office of the Whig representative. At last,
following the example of the great trimmer, Lord Halifax, he, with
a mixture of tact and good-humour which did him credit and proved a
strategic success, himself adopted the name thrust upon him, and in
his speeches and printed addresses openly advocated the policy of
“trimming,” when it had become a certainty that neither of the two
advocated extremes could any longer govern the country. Of course there
was an immense power in the style of argument adopted from the great
peer of two centuries back, who had often found himself in a parallel
dilemma; and his arguments, dressed up in a fresh garb, were freely
used by Sir Roland, and that with no small effect. Eustace read up the
subject of compromise for him, and furnished him with most telling
precedents to quote to his audiences. The Duke spoke to those friends
who came to remonstrate with, or consult him, in a fashion that was
not without effect. Men began to say to one another that if the Duke
of Penarvon had reached the conclusion that it was hopeless to try and
stem the tide, and that the wisest and best course now was to seek to
place in authority men of known experience, probity, and moderation to
guide the bark of the country through the troubled waters of reform,
why then they had better follow the same tactics. He would certainly
have advocated a fighting policy if there was any reasonable hope of
maintaining the struggle with success; but if he despaired of this, it
showed, indeed, that the time for compromise had come, and every one
who knew anything of human nature or the history of nations, must be
aware that to insist on fighting a hopeless battle was only to stir up
an infinity of bitterness and party feeling, and render the winning
side tenfold more violent and destructive.
And so the days fled swiftly by; Eustace, though secure of his own
seat, working as hard in the cause of Sir Roland as though it had been
his own, striving to live down the distrust and ill-feeling he found
prevailing against him in Pentreath and its neighbourhood, and gaining
an experience and insight into human nature which he had never obtained
before. He found himself sometimes in a rather awkward corner, it is
true; for his own views were far more in accordance with those of the
Radical candidate, Mr. Morval, than with those of Sir Roland, and it
was by no means always easy to avoid being landed again and again on
the horns of a dilemma. But since Sir Roland and he were of one mind
upon the great question upon which the appeal to the country was made,
Eustace felt that side issues and other matters of policy could be left
to take care of themselves. It would have been impossible to remain
a guest at Penarvon and to have flung himself into the arms of the
Radical or even the Whig party (it was all one, called at the castle
Radical, and in the town Whig, for the name Radical was still unpopular
amongst those who were voters, though beginning to be caught up by
the people). Eustace had no strong temptation to do this, having from
the first taken a liking for Sir Roland, and feeling grateful towards
his kinsman the Duke, who had been liberal enough to promise him the
coveted seat, even whilst regretting the nature of the great measure
his kinsman was pledged to support. Eustace would have sacrificed more
to win his goodwill and approval, or to keep in touch and in sympathy
with Bride. She was awaking to a keener interest in the coming struggle
than he had ever looked to see in her. He could not tell exactly
what she thought about it all, or what view she took of the question
of Reform; but there was something in her method of receiving his
accounts of their doings that inspired him with a keen wish to retain
her sympathies; and those he had found he could never have unless his
own doings were perfectly upright and honourable. Many and many a time
he was restrained from employing some common trick or some unworthy
inducement by the remembrance of the look in Bride’s eyes when Sir
Roland had laughingly boasted of a like bit of sharp practice. In
point of fact, he was growing to rule his life by a new standard since
knowing more of Bride and her ideals. He hardly recognised this himself
as yet; but, had he paused to look back, he would have known that there
were innumerable little ways in which he had changed. Things which in
old days would have appeared absolutely legitimate, if not actually
advisable, were now avoided by him with a scrupulousness which often
exposed him to a laugh. He began to ask himself instinctively how Bride
would regard any course of action about which he was uncertain, and
again and again that question had arrested him from taking a slightly
doubtful course, and kept him upon the road of strict probity and
honesty.
Nor could Bade be altogether unconscious of this herself, and it
began to form a silent bond between them, which was, perhaps, almost
dangerously sweet. Eustace was the most conscious of this, and it
often made his heart thrill with pleasure; neither was it without its
effect upon her--one of these being an increased interest in everything
concerning this contest, and the keenest sympathy with Eustace’s
strenuous endeavours that it should be conducted on lines of the
strictest equity, and that nothing should be said or done to disgrace
the cause or give a handle for calumny or reproach. Bride was scarcely
more sorrowful than he when it was found that the agent was conniving
at time-honoured abuses, and setting on foot the ordinary methods for
vote-catching. Things that were looked upon as a matter of course by
Sir Roland, and received with a laugh and a shrug, Eustace heard with
a sense of repulsion which he certainly would not have experienced a
year before; and he worked might and main to impose purer and more
equitable methods upon his subordinates, till it really began to be
said in Pentreath that Sir Roland deserved the seat if it was only for
his probity and upright dealing.
Eustace had hoped to have Saul working with and for him in these
stirring days; but, to his disappointment, and rather to his surprise,
he utterly failed in bringing his disciple into the arena of his own
efforts. Saul was working in his own fashion with a fierce resolution
and single-heartedness; but no argument or persuasion on Eustace’s part
would induce him to cast in his lot with the candidate of the Castle
party. It was in vain to say that he was on the side of the great
reform, that he was fighting the battle of the bill; Saul would reply
that Mr. Morval was also doing that, and that _he_ was a man pledged
to the cause of the people through thick and thin, whilst everybody
knew that Sir Roland was only advocating the bill because he knew it
was hopeless to oppose it, and that at heart he was a Tory and an
aristocrat. It was quite enough for Saul that the Castle was supporting
him. No gentle words from Lady Bride, no good offices from the Duke,
had had the smallest effect in overcoming the bitter hostility of this
man towards the house of Penarvon. Eustace sometimes doubted whether
he should ever retain Saul’s confidence if he were to succeed to the
dukedom one day, as was probable. As it was, Saul seemed able to
dissever the man from his name and race; but how long this might be the
case was an open question.
At any rate, Saul would not work with Eustace, and he worked on lines
absolutely independent, if not openly hostile. There was a section in
the town which was quite disposed to make an idol of the young fellow,
who had undergone a term of imprisonment and suffered so much in the
cause of justice and liberty.
This section was not one which commanded many votes; but the voice of
numbers always makes itself felt, and Saul was possessed of a rude
eloquence which commanded attention; and publicans began to find that,
if Saul was going to address a meeting in the evening, it was sure
to be largely attended by a class of customers who brought grist to
the mill. The operatives from the mills--now finding that the hated
machinery was a friend rather than a foe to them, and almost all of
them working again there--rallied round Saul to a man. They liked to
have as their spokesman and champion a man of his grand physique and of
a power of expression so much in advance of their own. They always came
to hear him speak, and he was gradually becoming something of a power
in the place. It is true that his addresses were of so inflammatory
a character that they were often followed by a demonstration or a
small riot which was alarming to the more orderly inhabitants; but, at
election times, people made up their mind to disturbances, and tried to
regard them philosophically as the natural concomitants of the crisis.
The scenes presented by the hustings as the election day drew on were
increasingly lively and animated. Eustace came home one day with his
coat half torn off his back, having adventured himself rather unwisely
down a side alley where some considerable body of rabid socialists
had gathered to listen to one of their own number denouncing anything
and everything in the past systems of government with a beautiful
impartiality. He often returned soiled and draggled, sometimes with
a cut on the face or hands. Sir Roland did not escape some of these
amenities either, and declared with good-humoured amusement that it
promised to be the most lively election he could remember.
The excitement became so acute as the day drew on, that even Bride
caught the infection of it, and was more aroused from her dreamy life
of silent meditation and prayer than she had ever been before. Not that
she ceased to pray constantly and earnestly for the victory of the
righteous cause--whichever that should be; but she spent less time in
silent musing and meditation, and more in the study of those papers and
journals which told her of the questions of the day, and the aim and
ultimate object of this hot party strife.
When the polling day really came, and her father settled to drive in
in the coach, taking Eustace with him--Sir Roland had his rooms at
the hotel in Pentreath, and had ceased to make headquarters at the
castle--Bride suddenly asked to accompany the party, a request so
foreign to her ordinary habits that both the men looked at her in
surprise.
“It will be very noisy and rowdy in the town,” said Eustace, “and we
may get into some street-fights, and have a warm reception ourselves.
Would you not be better and safer at home?”
“I should like to see the town at election time,” answered Bride, “and
I should like to be with my father.”
The Duke was surprised, and said a few words to dissuade her, but
finding her really bent upon it, gave way. He did not anticipate
anything very different to-day from what he had experienced at other
elections, and his daughter would go straight to the hotel where Sir
Roland’s committee-room was situated, and would remain there till he
drove out again. He himself would go early to the poll and register his
vote, and then come back and await the news which from time to time
would be brought in. He did not intend to remain late, to remain till
the result was announced; but he would spend a few hours in the place,
and gain a general idea how the fortunes of the day were going.
The town presented an extraordinary appearance to Bride, as the great
coach rumbled through its streets, ordinarily so quiet and silent
and sleepy. The whole place was alive. It seemed as though every
inhabitant of the town and neighbourhood was abroad in the streets, and
shouts and yells, hootings and cheers, greeted the appearance of the
ducal equipage as it turned every corner. On the whole, however, the
crowd seemed jovial and good-tempered, and although Bride shrank back
sometimes in vague distress and alarm at the sound of certain hoarse
cries which assailed her ears, she was aroused and interested by all
she saw. The carriage passed through the streets without molestation,
though with many needful halts on account of the congested state of
the traffic, till it stopped at the hotel, and the Duke handed out
his daughter amid the cheering of a large crowd, which had gathered
there in the expectation of hearing some speeches from Sir Roland.
Bride was glad to hide herself in the building; but was soon provided
with a chair near the window, from which she could look out into the
market-place below. Sheltered by a curtain, she could see without
being seen. The room opened by one of its long windows upon the great
square balcony formed by the roof of the projecting porch; and from
time to time Sir Roland, or one of his coadjutors, stepped out upon
this balcony and made a short speech, always received with vociferous
applause. When it was known that the Duke had arrived, there were many
shouts for him; and at last he gratified the people by going forward,
and making a brief but able little speech, in which encouragement and
warning were blended in a way that produced an obvious effect, and set
the people thinking.
Eustace made a speech to which Bride listened with undivided attention;
and never for a moment did he forget that she was listening, and seldom
perhaps had he spoken better, or so eloquently advocated his entire
belief in the use of the best and noblest weapons only, in the noble
cause to which they were pledged. When he came in again, after being
warmly applauded from without, she gave him a glance which set his
heart bounding and his pulses throbbing; but he had no time for speech
then, as the Duke wished to go to the poll at once, and he accompanied
him to try and ward off anything like personal attack or insult; for he
was by no means sure what Saul and his band of malcontents were up to;
and his own presence at the side of his kinsman would be the greatest
protection from any disagreeable interlude.
Bride remained in the hotel, sometimes watching the animated scene
without, sometimes exchanging courtesies with the gentlemen of the
county who came in and out, some accompanied by their wives, who, like
Bride, had come to see what was going on, and who were pleased to see
the girl again after her long period of seclusion following on her
mother’s last illness and death.
Luncheon was spread in a room below, and partaken of as the appetite or
convenience of the guests suggested. The Duke returned from the poll
with tidings so far favourable to their candidate. But it was too
early to feel any security; and the supporters of the Viscount were
rallying bravely round him, and talking grandly of carrying the seat in
the Tory interest in face of all Radical and time-serving opposition.
At two o’clock, however, things were still looking well for Sir
Roland, and better still at three. The Viscount’s poll remained almost
stationary now, and the Radical candidate was left far behind. True,
his supporters were mainly those likely to register their votes later
in the day, but on the whole there was a feeling in the minds of Sir
Roland and his committee that the day was going very well for them, and
the cheering and enthusiasm outside, whenever news from the poll was
received, was loud and increasing.
But the Duke, though keenly interested in the contest, was not desirous
of remaining much longer. He wished to get home before the mills ceased
work, and the operatives came pouring out. At any rate, he wished to
be clear of the town by that time; and when he was told that to-day
many of the mills were to close at four o’clock, he quickly ordered his
carriage to be got ready, for there was not too much time to spare.
It took time, with the yard so full of vehicles and the stables so
overcrowded, to get the great coach out and equipped; and Eustace
suddenly resolved that he would at least make one of the party in
it on its way through the streets. The hands of the clock were
drawing rapidly on to the hour of four, and still the coach could
not be got free of the yard. Then a messenger from the poll came
tearing up with news of farther advances for Sir Roland, and some
more congratulations and cheering had to be gone through, whilst the
crowd, surging up closer and closer round the hotel, made egress for
the moment practically impossible. Before the horses were in and
the start accomplished, the clocks had boomed out the hour of four
some ten minutes since; and as Eustace looked out through the window
at the crowded state of the streets, and the threatening aspect of
the operatives swarming round them, he wished they had cleared the
precincts of the town some half-hour ago, but was very glad he was in
the carriage.
They had turned out of the main thoroughfare, where progress was almost
impossible, on account of its proximity to the polling booth, and were
making their way down a narrow alley, when a sudden sound of hooting
and yelling broke upon their ears, and Eustace, trained to such things,
detected a note of menace in it which he feared was directed against
the well-known carriage of the Duke. This suspicion was heightened by
the conduct of the coachman on the box, who suddenly lashed his horses
into a mad gallop, as though the man felt that this was the only chance
of getting through some barrier suddenly raised before them.
This manœuvre was received with a howl and a yell. The next moment,
the carriage lurched violently, the horses plunged and kicked in wild
terror. Cries, groans, and curses arose in deafening tumult around the
carriage, and Bride half started up, exclaiming--
“They are trampling down the people. Eustace, stop the horses! Tell the
coachman to pull up! They must not hurt the people! See that they do
not! See if any one is hurt!”
There was no fear in her face, only a great compassion and anxiety.
But before Eustace could make any move or answer, the horses had
been brought to a standstill by the hands of the mob, and the wild
and enraged people were yelling and surging round the carriage in a
fashion which could not but remind all its occupants of scenes they had
heard described as having taken place in France during the days of the
uprising of the populace there.
Bride sank back in her seat, pale, but with a look of quiet
resolution, which bespoke the high courage of her race. The Duke
put out his hand and took his daughter’s in its clasp, but remained
otherwise perfectly quiet and unmoved. His fine old face regarded the
tumult without a change or a quiver; his eyes looked quietly, though
rather sternly, out from beneath the pent-house of his bushy brows, and
his lips looked a little thin and grim. The men on the box were making
a gallant fight, laying about them right and left with the great whip
and with the reins, whose buckled end made no bad weapon when whirled
round the head of some approaching ruffian. But these demonstrations
only provoked the crowd to wilder fury, and Eustace knew not whether
to open the door and remonstrate with both parties, or reserve his
words for any attack likely to be made upon the party inside. It was a
terribly anxious moment for him, knowing as he did the temper of the
people, and the terrible lengths to which angry passions will drive
furious and disappointed men. It was very plain that these turbulent
malcontents had heard that Sir Roland seemed carrying the day; and
their native bitterness towards all persons of rank and station was
intensified fourfold by the discouraging news just made known.
A large stone came crashing in through the window, shivering the glass
to fragments, and sending the sharp morsels flying round the occupants
in a most dangerous fashion.
“Come out of that!--give up your coach to proper uses!” cried rough
voices in every key. “Down with the tyrants and oppressors! Down with
all dukes and baronets and fine gentlemen!”
Eustace looked out of the window with flaming eyes.
“Men!” he cried in a loud voice--and for a moment his well-known face
and voice arrested attention and respect, “be men!--not brutes! There
is a lady with us. Respect her womanhood, if you cannot respect her
station; and let us pass in peace. You do not make war on women. Be
men, and let us through. I will go with you if you will; but not till
you have promised not to molest this carriage.”
A mocking roar was the answer; those behind set it going, and the whole
crowd took it up.
“You!--and what are you, pray?--a turncoat--a deserter--a
trimmer!”--and at that word a yell went up transcending anything that
had gone before.
“Trimmer!--trimmer!--traitor!” was bawled and yelled on all sides, and
then there arose such a hubbub as cannot be described, a hubbub in
which no articulate words could be detected, save oaths of blasphemous
import, which made Bride whiten and shiver as no sense of personal
peril could do. Eustace better analysed the meaning of those shouts
and yells and cries, and turning to the Duke, he said, “I think we
must leave the carriage. If we were alone we might sit it out and
brave them; but we have a lady with us, and it will not do to provoke
them too far. They will stop short, I fully believe, at personal
violence, and there is a house just opposite where they are making
friendly signals to us, and will give us shelter if we can reach the
door. Bride, will you be afraid to face the mob for one minute? They
will howl and yell; but they will not molest you--they shall not!
Come!--there is no time to lose.”
Indeed there was not. A new sound arose, a sound of more hooting and
yelling, as though a new crowd was upon them; and as this fresh noise
smote upon the ears of the mob round the carriage, it became mingled
with a new war-cry, and Eustace distinguished the shout of “Saul
Tresithny!--Saul Tresithny!” mingling with other sounds.
If indeed it were Saul coming upon them, he would be most likely
heading the wildest crew in the town. Eustace looked suddenly pale
but intensely resolute as he flung open the door of the carriage and
sprang out, before the people were prepared for the action.
“You shall have the carriage, men,” he said, “but make way for this
lady to pass;” and he gave his hand to Bride, who came out with her
simple air of quiet fearless dignity, and stood for a second regarding
the surging crowd with such a great compassion in her eyes, that those
nearest involuntarily fell back, and not a sound arose from any but
the hinder ranks, as the Duke and his daughter passed through the mob
and gained the friendly shelter of the humble house which Eustace had
recognised as a place where they would find shelter.
Was it the fearless dignified bearing of the old nobleman, or the
gentle self-possession of the girl? Eustace wondered, and could not
say. All he knew was that for the brief moment of the transit there was
comparative silence and tranquillity; and the Duke showed no sign of
nervous haste as he paused to direct the coachman and footman to cease
ineffectual resistance and to come also within doors.
Then he followed Eustace and Bride with firm and quiet bearing, whilst
just as the door closed behind the whole party, the hootings and yells
redoubled in fury, mingling freely with the name which seemed to infuse
fresh life into the howling mob--the name of Saul Tresithny.
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