THE ELECTION.
The important morning at length arrived, and as I looked from my bed-room
window at daybreak, the crowd of carriages of all sorts and shapes
decorated with banners and placards; the incessant bustle; the hurrying
hither and thither; the cheering as each new detachment of voters came up,
mounted on jaunting-cars, or on horses whose whole caparison consisted in
a straw rope for a bridle, and a saddle of the same frail material,--all
informed me that the election day was come. I lost no further time, but
proceeded to dress with all possible despatch. When I appeared in the
breakfast-room, it was already filled with some seventy or eighty persons
of all ranks and ages, mingled confusedly together, and enjoying the
hospitable fare of my uncle’s house, while they discussed all the details
and prospects of the election. In the hall, the library, the large
drawing-room, too, similar parties were also assembled, and as newcomers
arrived, the servants were busy in preparing tables before the door and up
the large terrace that ran the entire length of the building. Nothing could
be more amusing than the incongruous mixture of the guests, who, with every
variety of eatable that chance or inclination provided, were thus thrown
into close contact, having only this in common,--the success of the cause
they were engaged in. Here was the old Galway squire, with an ancestry that
reached to Noah, sitting side by side with the poor cotter, whose whole
earthly possession was what, in Irish phrase, is called a “potato
garden,”--meaning the exactly smallest possible patch of ground out of
which a very Indian-rubber conscience could presume to vote. Here sat the
old simple-minded, farmer-like man, in close conversation with a little
white-foreheaded, keen-eyed personage, in a black coat and eye-glass,--a
flash attorney from Dublin, learned in flaws of the registry, and deep in
the subtleties of election law. There was an Athlone horse-dealer, whose
habitual daily practices in imposing the halt, the lame, and the blind upon
the unsuspecting, for beasts of blood and mettle, well qualified him for
the trickery of a county contest. Then there were scores of squireen
gentry, easily recognized on common occasions by a green coat, brass
buttons, dirty cords, and dirtier top-boots, a lash-whip, and a half-bred
fox-hound; but now, fresh-washed for the day, they presented something the
appearance of a swell mob, adjusted to the meridian of Galway. A mass of
frieze-coated, brow-faced, bullet-headed peasantry filled up the large
spaces, dotted here and there with a sleek, roguish-eyed priest, or some
low electioneering agent detailing, for the amusement of the company, some
of those cunning practices of former times which if known to the proper
authorities would in all likelihood cause the talented narrator to be
improving the soil of Sidney, or fishing on the banks of the Swan river;
while at the head and foot of each table sat some personal friend of my
uncle, whose ready tongue, and still readier pistol, made him a personage
of some consequence, not more to his own people than to the enemy. While of
such material were the company, the fare before them was no less varied:
here some rubicund squire was deep in amalgamating the contents of a
venison pasty with some of Sneyd’s oldest claret; his neighbor, less
ambitious, and less erudite in such matters, was devouring rashers of
bacon, with liberal potations of potteen; some pale-cheeked scion of the
law, with all the dust of the Four Courts in his throat, was sipping
his humble beverage of black tea beside four sturdy cattle-dealers from
Ballinasloe, who were discussing hot whiskey punch and _spoleaion_ (boiled
beef) at the very primitive hour of eight in the morning. Amidst the clank
of decanters, the crash of knives and plates, and the jingling of glasses,
the laughter and voices of the guests were audibly increasing; and the
various modes of “running a buck” (_Anglicé_, substituting a vote), or
hunting a badger, were talked over on all sides, while the price of a
_veal_ (a calf), or a voter, was disputed with all the energy of debate.
Refusing many an offered place, I went through the different rooms in
search of Considine, to whom circumstances of late had somehow greatly
attached me.
“Here, Charley,” cried a voice I was very familiar with,--“here’s a place
I’ve been keeping for you.”
“Ah, Sir Harry, how do you do? Any of that grouse-pie to spare?”
“Abundance, my boy; but I’m afraid I can’t say as much for the liquor.
I have been shouting for claret this half-hour in vain,--do get us some
nutriment down here, and the Lord will reward you. What a pity it is,” he
added, in a lower tone, to his neighbor--“what a pity a quart-bottle won’t
hold a quart; but I’ll bring it before the House one of these days.” That
he kept his word in this respect, a motion on the books of the Honorable
House will bear me witness.
“Is this it?” said he, turning towards a farmer-like old man, who had put
some question to him across the table; “is it the apple-pie you’ll have?”
“Many thanks to your honor,--I’d like it, av it was wholesome.”
“And why shouldn’t it be wholesome?” said Sir Harry.
“Troth, then, myself does not know; but my father, I heerd tell, died of an
apple-plexy, and I’m afeerd of it.”
I at length found Considine, and learned that, as a very good account of
Bodkin had arrived, there was no reason why I should not proceed to the
hustings; but I was secretly charged not to take any prominent part in the
day’s proceedings. My uncle I only saw for an instant,--he begged me to
be careful, avoid all scrapes, and not to quit Considine. It was past ten
o’clock when our formidable procession got under way, and headed towards
the town of Galway. The road was, for miles, crowded with our followers;
banners flying and music playing, we presented something of the spectacle
of a very ragged army on its march. At every cross-road a mountain-path
reinforcement awaited us, and as we wended along, our numbers were
momentarily increasing; here and there along the line, some energetic
and not over-sober adherent was regaling his auditory with a speech in
laudation of the O’Malleys since the days of Moses, and more than one
priest was heard threatening the terrors of his Church in aid of a cause
to whose success he was pledged and bound. I rode beside the count, who,
surrounded by a group of choice spirits, recounted the various happy
inventions by which he had, on divers occasions, substituted a personal
quarrel for a contest. Boyle also contributed his share of election
anecdote, and one incident he related, which, I remember, amused me much at
the time.
[Illustration: THE ELECTION.]
“Do you remember Billy Calvert, that came down to contest Kilkenny?”
inquired Sir Harry.
“What, ever forget him!” said Considine, “with his well-powdered wig and
his hessians. There never was his equal for lace ruffles and rings.”
“You never heard, may be, how he lost the election?”
“He resigned, I believe, or something of that sort.”
“No, no,” said another; “he never came forward at all. There’s some secret
in it; for Tom Butler was elected without a contest.”
“Jack, I’ll tell you how it happened. I was on my way up from Cork, having
finished my own business, and just carried the day, not without a push for
it. When we reached,--Lady Mary was with me,--when we reached Kilkenny, the
night before the election, I was not ten minutes in town till Butler
heard of it, and sent off express to see me; I was at my dinner when the
messenger came, and promised to go over when I’d done. But faith, Tom
didn’t wait, but came rushing up-stairs himself, and dashed into the room
in the greatest hurry.
“‘Harry,’ says he, ‘I’m done for; the corporation of free smiths, that were
always above bribery, having voted for myself and my father before, for
four pounds ten a man, won’t come forward under six guineas and whiskey.
Calvert has the money; they know it. The devil a farthing we have; and
we’ve been paying all our fellows that can’t read in Hennesy’s notes, and
you know the bank’s broke this three weeks.’
“On he went, giving me a most disastrous picture of his cause, and
concluded by asking if I could suggest anything under the circumstances.
“‘You couldn’t get a decent mob and clear the poll?’
“‘I am afraid not,’ said he, despondingly.
“‘Then I don’t see what’s to be done, if you can’t pick a fight with
himself. Will he go out?’
“‘Lord knows! They say he’s so afraid of that, that it has prevented him
coming down till the very day. But he is arrived now; he came in the
evening, and is stopping at Walsh’s in Patrick Street.’
“‘Then I’ll see what can be done,’ said I.
“‘Is that Calvert, the little man that blushes when the Lady-Lieutenant
speaks to him?’ said Lady Mary.
“‘The very man.’
“‘Would it be of any use to you if he could not come on the hustings
to-morrow?’ said she, again.
“‘‘Twould gain us the day. Half the voters don’t believe he’s here at all,
and his chief agent cheated all the people on the last election; and if
Calvert didn’t appear, he wouldn’t have ten votes to register. But why do
you ask?’
“‘Why, that, if you like, I’ll bet you a pair of diamond ear-rings he
sha’n’t show.’
“‘Done!’ said Butler. ‘And I promise a necklace into the bargain, if you
win; but I’m afraid you’re only quizzing me.’
“‘Here’s my hand on it,’ said she. ‘And now let’s talk of something else.’”
As Lady Mary never asked my assistance, and as I knew she was very well
able to perform whatever she undertook, you may be sure I gave myself very
little trouble about the whole affair; and when they came, I went off to
breakfast with Tom’s committee, not knowing anything that was to be done.
Calvert had given orders that he was to be called at eight o’clock, and so
a few minutes before that time a gentle knock came to the door.
‘Come in,’ said he, thinking it was the waiter, and covering himself up in
the clothes; for he was the most bashful creature ever was seen,--‘come
in.’
The door opened, and what was his horror to find that a lady entered in her
dressing-gown, her hair on her shoulders, very much tossed and dishevelled.
The moment she came in, she closed the door and locked it, and then sat
leisurely down upon a chair.
Billy’s teeth chattered, and his limbs trembled; for this was an adventure
of a very novel kind for him. At last he took courage to speak.
‘I am afraid, madam,’ said he, ‘that you are under some unhappy mistake,
and that you suppose this chamber is--’
‘Mr. Calvert’s,’ said the lady, with a solemn voice, ‘is it not?’
‘Yes, madam, I am that person.’
‘Thank God!’ said the lady, with a very impressive tone. ‘Here I am safe.’
Billy grew very much puzzled at these words; but hoping that by his silence
the lady would proceed to some explanation, he said no more. She, however,
seemed to think that nothing further was necessary, and sat still and
motionless, with her hands before her and her eyes fixed on Billy.
“‘You seem to forget me, sir?’ said she, with a faint smile.
“‘I do, indeed, madam; the half-light, the novelty of your costume, and the
strangeness of the circumstance altogether must plead for me, if I appear
rude enough.’
“‘I am Lady Mary Boyle,’ said she.
“‘I do remember you, madam; but may I ask--’
“‘Yes, yes; I know what you would ask. You would say, Why are you here? How
comes it that you have so far outstepped the propriety of which your whole
life is an example, that alone, at such a time, you appear in the chamber
of a man whose character for gallantry--’
“‘Oh, indeed--indeed, my lady, nothing of the kind!’
“‘Ah, alas! poor defenceless women learn, too late, how constantly
associated is the retiring modesty which decries, with the pleasing powers
which ensure success--’
“Here she sobbed, Billy blushed, and the clock struck nine.
“‘May I then beg, madam--’
“‘Yes, yes, you shall hear it all; but my poor scattered faculties will
not be the clearer by your hurrying me. You know, perhaps,’ continued
she, ‘that my maiden name was Rogers?’ He of the blankets bowed, and she
resumed, ‘It is now eighteen years since, that a young, unsuspecting, fond
creature, reared in all the care and fondness of doting parents, tempted
her first step in life, and trusted her fate to another’s keeping. I am
that unhappy person; the other, that monster in human guise that smiled but
to betray, that won but to ruin and destroy, is he whom you know as Sir
Harry Boyle.’
“Here she sobbed for some minutes, wiped her eyes, and resumed her
narrative. Beginning at the period of her marriage, she detailed a number
of circumstances in which poor Calvert, in all his anxiety to come _au
fond_ at matters, could never perceive bore upon the question in any way;
but as she recounted them all with great force and precision, entreating
him to bear in mind certain circumstances to which she should recur by and
by, his attention was kept on the stretch, and it was only when the clock
struck ten that he was fully aware how his morning was passing, and what
surmises his absence might originate.
“‘May I interrupt you for a moment, dear madam? Was it nine or ten o’clock
which struck last?’
“‘How should I know?’ said she, frantically. ‘What are hours and minutes to
her who has passed long years of misery?’
“‘Very true, very true,’ replied he, timidly, and rather fearing for the
intellect of his fair companion.
She continued. The narrative, however, so far from becoming clearer, grew
gradually more confused and intricate; and as frequent references were made
by the lady to some previous statement, Calvert was more than once rebuked
for forgetfulness and inattention, where in reality nothing less than
short-hand could have borne him through.
“‘Was it in ‘93 I said that Sir Harry left me at Tuam?’
“‘Upon my life, madam, I am afraid to aver; but it strikes me--’
“‘Gracious powers! and this is he whom I fondly trusted to make the
depository of my woes! Cruel, cruel man!’
“Here she sobbed considerably for several minutes, and spoke not. A loud
cheer of ‘Butler forever!’ from the mob without now burst upon their
hearing, and recalled poor Calvert at once to the thought that the hours
were speeding fast and no prospect of the everlasting tale coming to an
end.
“‘I am deeply, most deeply grieved, my dear madam,’ said the little man,
sitting up in a pyramid of blankets; ‘but hours, minutes, are most precious
to me this morning. I am about to be proposed as member for Kilkenny.’
“At these words the lady straightened her figure out, threw her arms at
either side, and burst into a fit of laughter which poor Calvert knew
at once to be hysterics. Here was a pretty situation! The bell-rope lay
against the opposite wall; and even if it did not, would he be exactly
warranted in pulling it?
“‘May the devil and all his angels take Sir Harry Boyle and his whole
connection to the fifth generation!’ was his sincere prayer as he sat like
a Chinese juggler under his canopy.
“At length the violence of the paroxysm seemed to subside; the sobs became
less frequent, the kicking less forcible, and the lady’s eyes closed, and
she appeared to have fallen asleep.
“‘Now is the moment,’ said Billy. ‘If I could only get as far as my
dressing-gown.’ So saying, he worked himself down noiselessly to the foot
of his bed, looked fixedly at the fallen lids of the sleeping lady, and
essayed one leg from the blanket. ‘Now or never,’ said he, pushing aside
the curtain and preparing for a spring. One more look he cast at his
companion, and then leaped forth; but just as he lit upon the floor she
again roused herself, screaming with horror. Billy fell upon the bed, and
rolling himself in the bedclothes, vowed never to rise again till she was
out of the visible horizon.
“‘What is all this? What do you mean, sir?’ said the lady, reddening with
indignation.
“‘Nothing, upon my soul, madam; it was only my dressing-gown.’
“‘Your dressing-gown!’ said she, with an emphasis worthy of Siddons; ‘a
likely story for Sir Harry to believe, sir! Fie, fie, sir!’
“This last allusion seemed a settler; for the luckless Calvert heaved a
profound sigh, and sunk down as if all hope had left him. ‘Butler forever!’
roared the mob. ‘Calvert forever!’ cried a boy’s voice from without. ‘Three
groans for the runaway!’ answered this announcement; and a very tender
inquiry of, ‘Where is he?’ was raised by some hundred mouths.
“‘Madam,’ said the almost frantic listener,--‘madam, I must get up! I must
dress! I beg of you to permit me!’
“‘I have nothing to refuse, sir. Alas, disdain has long been my only
portion! Get up, if you will.’
“‘But,’ said the astonished man, who was well-nigh deranged at the coolness
of this reply,--‘but how am I to do so if you sit there?’
“‘Sorry for any inconvenience I may cause you; but in the crowded state of
the hotel I hope you see the impropriety of my walking about the passages
in this costume?’
“‘And, great God! madam, why did you come out in it?’
“A cheer from the mob prevented her reply being audible. One o’clock tolled
out from the great bell of the cathedral.
“‘There’s one o’clock, as I live!’
“‘I heard it,’ said the lady.
“‘The shouts are increasing. What is that I hear? “Butler is in!” Gracious
mercy! is the election over?’
“The lady stepped to the window, drew aside the curtain, and said, ‘Indeed,
it would appear so. The mob are cheering Mr. Butler.’ A deafening shout
burst from the street. ‘Perhaps you’d like to see the fun, so I’ll not
detain you any longer. So, good-by, Mr. Calvert; and as your breakfast will
be cold, in all likelihood, come down to No. 4, for Sir Harry’s a late man,
and will be glad to see you.’”