THE ELECTION.
The day of the nomination at Percycross came at last, and it was
manifest to everybody that there was a very unpleasant feeling in
the town. It was not only that party was arrayed against party. That
would have been a state of things not held to be undesirable, and
at any rate would have been natural. But at present things were so
divided that there was no saying which were the existing parties.
Moggs was separated from Westmacott quite as absolutely as was
Westmacott from the two Conservative candidates. The old Liberals of
the borough were full of ridicule for poor Moggs, of whom all absurd
stories were told by them both publicly and privately. But still he
was there, the darling of the workmen. It was, indeed, asserted by
the members of Mr. Westmacott's committee that Moggs's popularity
would secure for him but very few votes. A great proportion of
the working men of Percycross were freemen of the borough,--old
voters who were on the register by right of their birth and family
connection in the place, independent of householdership and
rates,--and quite accustomed to the old ways of manipulation. The
younger of these men might be seduced into listening to Moggs. The
excitement was pleasant to them. But they were too well trained to be
led away on the day of election. Moggs would give them no beer, and
they had always been accustomed to their three half-crowns a head in
consideration for the day's work. Not a dozen freemen of the borough
would vote for Moggs. So said Mr. Kirkham, Mr. Westmacott's managing
man, and no man knew the borough quite so well as did Mr. Kirkham.
"They'll fight for him at the hustings," said Mr. Kirkham; "but
they'll take their beer and their money, and they'll vote for us and
Griffenbottom."
This might be true enough as regarded the freemen,--the men who had
been, as it were, educated to political life;--but there was much
doubt as to the new voters. There were about a thousand of these in
the borough, and it had certainly not been the intention of either
party that these men should have the half-crowns. It was from
these men and their leaders,--the secretaries and chairmen and
presidents,--that had come the cry for a second liberal candidate,
and the consequent necessity of putting forward two Conservatives.
They were equally odious to the supporters of Westmacott and of
Griffenbottom. "They must have the half-crowns," Trigger had said
to old Pile, the bootmaker. Pile thought that every working man was
entitled to the three half-crowns, and said as much very clearly.
"I suppose old Griff ain't going to turn Hunks at this time o' day,"
said Mr. Pile. But the difficulties were endless, and were much
better understood by Mr. Trigger than by Mr. Pile. The manner of
conveying the half-crowns to the three hundred and twenty-four
freemen, who would take them and vote honestly afterwards for
Griffenbottom and Underwood, was perfectly well understood. But
among that godless, riotous, ungoverned and ungovernable set of new
householders, there was no knowing how to act. They would take the
money and then vote wrong. They would take the money and then split.
The freemen were known. Three hundred and twenty-four would take
Griffenbottom's beer and half-crowns. Two hundred and seventy-two
would be equally complaisant with Mr. Westmacott. But of these
householders nothing was known. They could not be handled. Some
thirty or forty of them would probably have the turning of the
election at the last hour, must then be paid at their own prices, and
after that would not be safe! Mr. Trigger, in his disgust, declared
that things had got into so vile a form that he didn't care if he
never had anything to do with an election in Percycross again.
And then there was almost as much ill-feeling between the
old-fashioned Griffenbottomites and the Underwooders as there was
between Westmacott's Liberals and Moggs's Radicals. The two gentlemen
themselves still eat their breakfasts and dinners together, and still
paraded the streets of Percycross in each other's company. But
Sir Thomas had made himself very odious even to Mr. Griffenbottom
himself. He was always protesting against beer which he did see, and
bribery which he did not see but did suspect. He swore that he would
pay not a shilling, as to which the cause of the expenditure was not
explained to him. Griffenbottom snarled at him, and expressed an
opinion that Sir Thomas would of course do the same as any other
gentleman. Mr. Trigger, with much dignity in his mien as he spoke,
declared that the discussion of any such matter at the present moment
was indecorous. Mr. Pile was for sending Sir Thomas back to town, and
very strongly advocated that measure. Mr. Spicer, as to whom there
was a story abroad in the borough in respect of a large order for
mustard, supposed to have reached him from New York through Liverpool
by the influence of Sir Thomas Underwood, thought that the borough
should return the two conservative candidates. Sir Thomas might be
a little indiscreet; but, upon the whole, his principles did him
honour. So thought Mr. Spicer, who, perhaps, believed that the order
for the mustard was coming. We need hardly say that the story, at any
rate in so far as it regarded Sir Thomas Underwood, was altogether
untrue. "Yes; principles!" said Mr. Pile. "I think we all know Sam
Spicer's principles. All for hisself, and nothing for a poor man.
That's Sam Spicer." Of Mr. Pile, it must be acknowledged that he was
not a pure-minded politician. He loved bribery in his very heart.
But it is equally true that he did not want to be bribed himself. It
was the old-fashioned privilege of a poor man to receive some small
consideration for his vote in Percycross, and Mr. Pile could not
endure to think that the poor man should be robbed of his little
comforts.
In the meantime, Sir Thomas himself was in a state of great misery.
From hour to hour he was fluctuating between a desire to run away
from the accursed borough, and the shame of taking such a step. The
desire for the seat which had brought him to Percycross had almost
died out amidst the misery of his position. Among all the men of
his party with whom he was associating, there was not one whom he
did not dislike, and by whom he was not snubbed and contradicted.
Griffenbottom, who went through his canvass under circumstances of
coming gout and colchicum with a courage and pertinacity that were
heroic, was painfully cross to every one who was not a voter. "What's
the use of all that d----d nonsense, now?" he said to Sir Thomas the
evening before the nomination day. There were half-a-dozen leading
Conservatives in the room, and Sir Thomas was making a final protest
against bribery. He rose from his chair when so addressed, and left
the room. Never in his life before had he been so insulted. Trigger
followed him to his bedroom, knowing well that a quarrel at this
moment would be absolutely suicidal. "It's the gout, Sir Thomas,"
said Mr. Trigger. "Do remember what he's going through." This was so
true that Sir Thomas returned to the room. It was almost impossible
not to forgive anything in a man who was suffering agonies, but could
still wheedle a voter. There were three conservative doctors with Mr.
Griffenbottom, each of them twice daily; and there was an opinion
prevalent through the borough that the gout would be in his stomach
before the election was over. Sir Thomas did return to the room,
and sat himself down without saying a word. "Sir Thomas," said Mr.
Griffenbottom, "a man with the gout is always allowed a little
liberty."
"I admit the claim," said Sir Thomas, bowing.
"And believe me, I know this game better than you do. It's of no use
saying these things. No man should ever foul his own nest. Give me a
little drop more brandy, Trigger, and then I'll get myself to bed."
When he was gone, they all sang Griffenbottom's praises. In staunch
pluck, good humour, and manly fighting, no man was his superior.
"Give and take,--the English bull-dog all over. I do like old
Griffenbottom," said Spiveycomb, the paper-maker.
On the day of nomination Griffenbottom was carried up on the
hustings. This carrying did him good in the borough; but it should
be acknowledged on his behalf that he did his best to walk. In the
extreme agony of his attack he had to make his speech, and he made
it. The hustings stood in the market-square, and straight in front
of the wooden erection, standing at right angles to it, was a stout
rail dividing the space for the distance of fifty or sixty yards, so
that the supporters of one set of candidates might congregate on one
side, and the supporters of the other candidates on the other side.
In this way would the weaker part, whichever might be the weaker,
be protected from the violence of the stronger. On the present
occasion it seemed that the friends of Mr. Westmacott congregated
with the Conservatives. Moggs's allies alone filled one side of
the partition. There were a great many speeches made that day from
the hustings,--thirteen in all. First the mayor, and then the
four proposers and four seconders of the candidates. During these
performances, though there was so much noise from the crowd below
that not a word could be heard, there was no violence. When old
Griffenbottom got up, supporting himself by an arm round one of the
posts, he was loudly cheered from both sides. His personal popularity
in the borough was undoubted, and his gout made him almost a
demi-god. Nobody heard a word that he said; but then he had no desire
to be heard. To be seen standing up there, a martyr to the gout, but
still shouting for Percycross, was enough for his purpose. Sir Thomas
encountered a very different reception. He was received with yells,
apparently from the whole crowd. What he said was of no matter,
as not a word was audible; but he did continue to inveigh against
bribery. Before he had ceased a huge stone was thrown at him, and
hit him heavily on the arm. He continued speaking, however, and did
not himself know till afterwards that his arm was broken between
the shoulder and the elbow. Mr. Westmacott was very short and
good-humoured. He intended to be funny about poor Moggs;--and perhaps
was funny. But his fun was of no avail. The Moggite crowd had
determined that no men should be heard till their own candidate
should open his mouth.
At last Ontario's turn had come. At first the roar from the crowd was
so great that it seemed that it was to be with him as it had been
with the others. But by degrees, though there was still a roar,--as
of the sea,--Moggs's words became audible. The voices of assent and
dissent are very different, even though they be equally loud. Men
desirous of interrupting, do interrupt. But cheers, though they be
continuous and loud as thunder, are compatible with a hearing. Moggs
by this time, too, had learned to pitch his voice for an out-of-door
multitude. He preached his sermon, his old sermon, about the Rights
of Labour and the Salt of the Earth, the Tyranny of Capital and
the Majesty of the Workmen, with an enthusiasm that made him for
the moment supremely happy. He was certainly the hero of the tour
in Percycross, and he allowed himself to believe,--just for that
hour,--that he was about to become the hero of a new doctrine
throughout England. He spoke for over half an hour, while poor
Griffenbottom, seated in a chair that had been brought to him, was
suffering almost the pains of hell. During this speech Sir Thomas,
who had also suffered greatly, but had at first endeavoured to
conceal that he was suffering, discovered the extent of his
misfortune, and allowed himself to be taken out from the hustings
to his inn. There was an effort made to induce Mr. Griffenbottom
to retire at the same time; but Mr. Griffenbottom, not quite
understanding the extent of his colleague's misfortune, and thinking
that it became him to remain and to endure, was obdurate, and would
not be moved. He did not care for stones or threats,--did not care
even for the gout. That was his place till after the show of hands,
and there he would remain. The populace, seeing this commotion on
the hustings, began to fear that there was an intention to stop the
oratory of their popular candidate, and called loudly upon Moggs to
go on. Moggs did go on,--and was happy.
At last there came the show of hands. It was declared to be in
favour of Moggs and Westmacott. That it was very much in favour of
Moggs,--in favour of Moggs by five to one, there was no doubt. Among
the other candidates there was not perhaps much to choose. A poll
was, of course, demanded for the two Conservatives; and then the
mayor, complimenting the people on their good behaviour,--in spite
of poor Sir Thomas's broken arm,--begged them to go away. That was
all very well. Of course they would go away; but not till they had
driven their enemies from the field. In half a minute the dividing
rail,--the rail that had divided the blue from the yellow,--was down,
and all those who had dared to show themselves there as supporters
of Griffenbottom and Underwood were driven ignominiously from the
market-place. They fled at all corners, and in a few seconds not a
streak of blue ribbon was to be seen in the square. "They'll elect
that fellow Moggs to-morrow," said Mr. Westmacott to Kirkham.
"No a bit of it," said Kirkham. "I could spot all the ringleaders in
the row. Nine or ten of them are Griffenbottom's old men. They take
his money regularly,--get something nearly every year, join the rads
at the nomination, and vote for the squire at the poll. The chaps who
hollow and throw stones always vote t'other side up."
Mr. Griffenbottom kept his seat till he could be carried home
in safety through the town, and was then put to bed. The three
conservative doctors, who had all been setting Sir Thomas's arm, sat
in consultation upon their old friend; and it was acknowledged on
every side that Mr. Griffenbottom was very ill indeed. All manner of
rumours went through the town that night. Some believed that both
Griffenbottom and Sir Thomas were dead,--and that the mayor had now
no choice but to declare Moggs and Westmacott elected. Then there
arose a suspicion that the polls would be kept open on the morrow
on behalf of two defunct candidates, so that a further election on
behalf of the conservative party might be ensured. Men swore that
they would break into the bedrooms of the Standard Inn, in order that
they might satisfy themselves whether the two gentlemen were alive or
dead. And so the town was in a hubbub.
On that evening Moggs was called upon again to address his friends at
the Mechanics' Institute, and to listen to the speeches of all the
presidents and secretaries and chairmen; but by ten o'clock he was
alone in his bedroom at the Cordwainers' Arms. Down-stairs men were
shouting, singing, and drinking,--shouting in his honour, though not
drinking at his expense. He was alone in his little comfortless room,
but felt it to be impossible that he should lie down and rest. His
heart was swelling with the emotions of the day, and his mind was
full of his coming triumph. It was black night, and there was a soft
drizzling rain;--but it was absolutely necessary for his condition
that he should go out. It seemed to him that his very bosom would
burst, if he confined himself in that narrow space. His thoughts were
too big for so small a closet. He crept downstairs and out, through
the narrow passage, into the night. Then, by the light of the
solitary lamp that stood before the door of the public-house, he
could still see those glorious words, "Moggs, Purity, and the Rights
of Labour." Noble words, which had sufficed to bind to him the whole
population of that generous-hearted borough! Purity and the Rights of
Labour! Might it not be that with that cry, well cried, he might move
the very world! As he walked the streets of the town he felt a great
love for the borough grow within his bosom. What would he not owe to
the dear place which had first recognised his worth, and had enabled
him thus early in life to seize hold of those ploughshares which it
would be his destiny to hold for all his coming years? He had before
him a career such as had graced the lives of the men whom he had
most loved and admired,--of men who had dared to be independent,
patriotic, and philanthropical, through all the temptations of
political life. Would he be too vain if he thought to rival a Hume
or a Cobden? Conceit, he said to himself, will seek to justify itself.
Who can rise but those who believe their wings strong enough for
soaring? There might be shipwreck of course,--but he believed that he
now saw his way. As to the difficulty of speaking in public,--that
he had altogether overcome. Some further education as to facts,
historical and political, might be necessary. That he acknowledged to
himself;--but he would not spare himself in his efforts to acquire
such education. He went pacing through the damp, muddy, dark streets,
making speeches that were deliciously eloquent to his own ears. That
night he was certainly the happiest man in Percycross, never doubting
his success on the morrow,--not questioning that. Had not the whole
town greeted him with loudest acclamation as their chosen member?
He was deliciously happy;--while poor Sir Thomas was suffering
the double pain of his broken arm and his dissipated hopes, and
Griffenbottom was lying in his bed, with a doctor on one side and a
nurse on the other, hardly able to restrain himself from cursing all
the world in his agony.
At a little after eleven a tall man, buttoned up to his chin in an
old great coat, called at the Percy Standard, and asked after the
health of Mr. Griffenbottom and Sir Thomas. "They ain't neither of
them very well then," replied the waiter. "Will you say that Mr.
Moggs called to inquire, with his compliments," said the tall man.
The respect shown to him was immediately visible. Even the waiter at
the Percy Standard acknowledged that for that day Mr. Moggs must be
treated as a great man in Percycross. After that Moggs walked home
and crept into bed;--but it may be doubted whether he slept a wink
that night.
And then there came the real day,--the day of the election. It was
a foul, rainy, muddy, sloppy morning, without a glimmer of sun,
with that thick, pervading, melancholy atmosphere which forces for
the time upon imaginative men a conviction that nothing is worth
anything. Griffenbottom was in bed in one room at the Percy Standard,
and Underwood in the next. The three conservative doctors moving
from one chamber to another, watching each other closely, and hardly
leaving the hotel, had a good time of it. Mr. Trigger had already
remarked that in one respect the breaking of Sir Thomas's arm was
lucky, because now there would be no difficulty as to paying the
doctors out of the common fund. Every half-hour the state of the
poll was brought to them. Early in the morning Moggs had been in the
ascendant. At half-past nine the numbers were as follows:--
Moggs 193
Westmacott 172
Griffenbottom 162
Underwood 147
At ten, and at half-past ten, Moggs was equally in advance,
but Westmacott had somewhat receded. At noon the numbers were
considerably altered, and were as follows:--
Griffenbottom 892
Moggs 777
Westmacott 752
Underwood 678
These at least were the numbers as they came from the conservative
books. Westmacott was placed nearer to Moggs by his own tellers. For
Moggs no special books were kept. He was content to abide by the
official counting.
Griffenbottom was consulted privately by Trigger and Mr. Spiveycomb
as to what steps should be taken in this emergency. It was suggested
in a whisper that Underwood should be thrown over altogether. There
would be no beating Moggs,--so thought Mr. Spiveycomb,--and unless an
effort were made it might be possible that Westmacott would creep up.
Trigger in his heart considered that it would be impossible to get
enough men at three half-crowns a piece to bring Sir Thomas up to a
winning condition. But Griffenbottom, now that the fight was forward,
was unwilling to give way a foot. "We haven't polled half the
voters," said he.
"More than half what we shall poll," answered Trigger.
"They always hang back," growled Griffenbottom. "Fight it out. I
don't believe they'll ever elect a shoemaker here." The order was
given, and it was fought out.
Moggs, early in the morning, had been radiant with triumph, when he
saw his name at the head of the lists displayed from the two inimical
committee rooms. As he walked the streets, with a chairman on one
side of him and a president on the other, it seemed as though his
feet almost disdained to touch the mud. These were two happy hours,
during which he did not allow himself to doubt of his triumph. When
the presidents and the chairmen spoke to him, he could hardly answer
them, so rapt was he in contemplation of his coming greatness. His
very soul was full of his seat in Parliament! But when Griffenbottom
approached him on the lists, and then passed him, there came a shadow
upon his brow. He still felt sure of his election, but he would
lose that grand place at the top of the poll to which he had taught
himself to look so proudly. Soon after noon a cruel speech was made
to him. "We've about pumped our side dry," said a secretary of a
Young Men's Association.
"Do you mean we've polled all our friends?" asked Moggs.
"Pretty nearly, Mr. Moggs. You see our men have nothing to wait for,
and they came up early." Then Ontario's heart sank within him, and he
began to think of the shop in Bond Street.
The work of that afternoon in Percycross proved how correct Mr.
Griffenbottom had been in his judgment. He kept his place at the top
of the poll. It was soon evident that that could not be shaken. Then
Westmacott passed by Moggs, and in the next half-hour Sir Thomas
did so also. This was at two, when Ontario betook himself to the
privacy of his bedroom at the Cordwainers' Arms. His pluck left him
altogether, and he found himself unable to face the town as a losing
candidate. Then for two hours there was a terrible struggle between
Westmacott and Underwood, during which things were done in the
desperation of the moment, as to which it might be so difficult to
give an account, should any subsequent account be required. We all
know how hard it is to sacrifice the power of winning, when during
the heat of the contest the power of winning is within our reach. At
four o'clock the state of the poll was as follows:--
Griffenbottom 1402
Underwood 1007
Westmacott 984
Moggs 821
When the chairmen and presidents waited upon Moggs, telling him of
the final result, and informing him that he must come to the hustings
and make a speech, they endeavoured to console him by an assurance
that he, and he alone, had fought the fight fairly. "They'll both be
unseated, you know, as sure as eggs," said the president. "It can't
be otherwise. They've been busy up in a little room in Petticoat
Court all the afternoon, and the men have been getting as much as
fifteen shillings a head!" Moggs was not consoled, but he did make
his speech. It was poor and vapid;--but still there was just enough
of manhood left in him for that. As soon as his speech had been
spoken he escaped up to London by the night mail train. Westmacott
also spoke; but announcement was made on behalf of the members of the
borough that they were, both of them, in their beds.