Chippinge Borough

"See you d-d first!" the other answered bluntly. "Your game's up, old cock! Your master has held the pit long enough, but his time's come."

"If you don't-"

"If you put your nose in here, we'll pitch you over the rail!" the other declared.

White almost had a fit. Fortunately White-Hat Williams himself appeared at this moment: and White appealed to him.

"Mr. Williams," he said, "is this your safe conduct?"

"I gave none," with a grin.

"Pybus did."

"Ay, for your party! But if you choose to straggle in one by one, we can't be answerable for every single voter," with a wink. "Nor for any of you getting back again! No, no, White.

"Beneath the ways of Ministers, and it's the truth I tell, You've bought us very cheap, good White, and you've sold us very well!

But that's over! That's at an end to-day! But-what's this?"

This, was Sir Robert stepping forward to propose his candidates: or rather, it was the roar, mocking and defiant, which greeted his attempt to do so. It was a roar that made speech impossible. No doubt, among the crowd which filled the space through which he had driven so often with his four horses, the great man, the patron, the master of all, there were some who still respected, and more who feared him; and many who would not have insulted him. For if he had used his power stiffly, he had not used it ill. But there were also in the crowd men whose hearts were hot against the exclusiveness which had long effaced them; who believed that freedom or slavery hung on the issue of this day; who saw the prize of a long and bitter effort at stake, and were set on using every intimidation, ay, and every violence, if victory could not be had without them. And, were the others many or few, these swept them away, infected them with recklessness, gave that stern and mocking ring to the roar which continued and thwarted Sir Robert's every effort to make himself heard.

He stood long facing them, waiting, and never blenching. But after a while his lip curled and his eyes looked disdain on the mob below him: such disdain as the old Duke in after days hurled at the London rabble, when for answer to their fulsome cheers he pointed to the iron shutters of Apsley House. Sir Robert Vermuyden had done something, and thought that he had done more, for the men who yelped and snarled and snapped at him. According to his lights, acting on his maxim, all for the people and nothing by the people, he had treated them generously, granted all he thought good for them, planned for them, wrought for them. He had been master, but no task-master. He had indeed illustrated the better side of that government of the many by the few, of the unfit by the fit, with which he honestly believed the safety and the greatness of his country to be bound up.

And this was their return! No wonder that, seeing things as he saw them, he felt a bitter contempt for them. Freedom? Such freedom as was good for them, such freedom as was permanently possible-they had. And slavery? Was it slavery to be ruled, wisely and firmly, by a class into which they might themselves rise, a class which education and habit had qualified to rule. In his mind's eye, as he looked down on this fretting, seething mass, he saw that which they craved granted, and he saw, too, the outcome; that most cruel of all tyrannies, the tyranny of the many over the few, of the many who have neither a heart to feel nor a body to harm!

Once, twice, thrice one of his supporters thrust himself forward, and leaning on the rail, appealed with frantic gestures for silence, for a hearing, for respect. But each in turn retired baffled. Not a word in that tempest of sound was audible. And no one on the other side intervened. For they were pitiless. They in the old days had suffered the same thing: and it was their turn now. Even Vaughan stood with folded arms and a stern face: feeling the last contempt for the howling rabble before him, but firmly determined to expose himself to no second slight. At length Sir Robert saw that it was hopeless, shrugged his shoulders with quiet scorn, and shouting the names of his candidates in a clerk's ear, put on his hat, and stood back.

The old Squire seconded him in dumb show.

Then the Sergeant stood forward to state his views. He grasped the rail with both hands and waited, smiling blandly. But he might have waited an hour, he might have waited until night. The leaders for the Bill were determined to make their power felt. They were resolved that not a word on the Tory side should be heard. The Sergeant waited, and after a time, still smiling blandly, bowed and stood back.

It was Mr. Cooke's turn. He advanced. "Shout, and be hanged to you!" he cried, apoplectic in the face. An egg flew within a yard of him, and openly shaking his fist at the crowd he retired amid laughter.

Then White-Hat Williams, who had looked forward to this as to the golden moment of his life and had conned his oration until he knew its thunderous periods by heart, stepped forward to nominate the Whig candidates. He took off his hat; and as if that had been the signal for silence, such a stillness fell on all that his voice rang above the multitude like a trumpet.

"Gentlemen," he said, and smiling looked first to the one side and then to the other. "Gentlemen-"

Alas, he smiled too soon. The Tories grasped the situation, and, furious at the reception which had fallen to the lot of their leaders, determined that if they were not heard, no one should be heard. Before he could utter another word they broke into rabid bellowings, and what their shouts lacked in volume they made up in ill-will. In a twinkling they drowned White-Hat Williams's voice; and now who so indignant as the Whigs? In thirty seconds half-a-dozen single combats were proceeding in front of the Tory booth, blood flowed from as many noses, and amid a terrific turmoil respectable men and justices of the peace leant across the barriers and shook their fists and flung frenzied challenges broadcast.

All to no purpose. The Tories, though so much the weaker party, though but one to eight, could not be silenced. After making three or four attempts to gain a hearing White-Hat Williams saw that he must reserve his oration: and with a scowl he shouted his names into the ear of the clerk.

"Who? Who did he say?" growled the Squire, panting with rage and hoarse with shouting. His face was crimson, his cravat awry, he had lost his hat. "Who? Who?"

"Wrench and-one moment, sir!"

"Eh? Who do you say?"

"I couldn't hear! One moment, sir! Oh, yes! Wrench and Vaughan!"

"Vaughan?" old Rowley cried with a profane oath. "Impossible!"

But it was not impossible! Though so great was the surprise, so striking the effect upon Sir Robert's supporters that for a few seconds something like silence supervened. The serpent! The serpent! Here was a blow indeed-in the back!

Then as Blackford, the Methodist, rose to second the nomination, the storm broke out anew and more furiously than before. "What?" foamed the Squire, "be ruled by a rabble of grinning, yelling monkeys? By gad, I'll leave the country first! I-I hope someone will shoot that young man! I wish I'd never shaken his hand! By G-d, I'm glad my father is in his grave! He'd never ha' believed this! Never! Never!"

And from that time until the poll was declared open-in dumb show-not a word was audible.

Then at last the shouting of the rival bands sank to a confused babel of jeers, abuse, and laughter. Exhausted men mopped their faces, voiceless men loosened their neck-cloths, the farthest from the hustings went off to drink, and there was a lull until the sound of a drum and fife announced a new event, and forth from the Heart and Hand advanced a procession of five led by the accursed Dyas.

They were the Whig voters and they marched proudly to the front of the polling-booth, the mob falling back on either side to give them place.

Dyas flung his hat into the booth. "Wrench and Vaughan!" he cried in a voice which could be heard in the White Lion. "And I care not who knows it!"

They put to him the bribery oath. "I can take it," he answered. "Swallow it yourselves, if you can!"

"You should know the taste, Jack," cried a sly friend: and for a moment the laugh was against him.

One by one-the process was slow in those days-they voted. "Five for Wrench and Vaughan." Wrench rose and bowed to each as he retired. Arthur Vaughan took no notice.

Sir Robert's voters looked at one another uneasily. They had the day before them, but-and then he saw the look, and, putting White and his remonstrances on one side, he joined them, bade them follow him, and descended before them. He would ask no man to do what he would not do himself.

But the moment his action was understood, the moment the men were seen behind him, there was a yell so fierce and a movement so threatening, that on the lowest step of the hustings he stood bareheaded, raised his hand for silence and for a wonder was obeyed. In a clear, loud voice:

"Do you expect to terrify me," he cried, "either by threats or violence? Let any man look in my face and see if it change colour? Let him come and lay his hand on my heart and feel if it beats the quicker. Keep my voters from the poll and you stultify your own, for there will be no election. Make way then, and let them pass to their duty!"

And the crowd made way; and Arthur Vaughan felt a reluctant pang of admiration. The five were polled; the result so far, five for each of the candidates.

There remained to poll only Arthur Vaughan and Pillinger of the Blue Duck, if he could be brought up by the Tories. If neither of these voted the Returning Officer would certainly give the casting vote for Sir Robert's candidates-if he dared.

Isaac White believed that he would not dare, and for some time past the agent had been in covert talk with Pybus at the back of the hustings, two or three of the friends of each masking the conference. Now he drew aside his employer who had returned in safety to his place; and he conferred with him. But for a time it was clear that Sir Robert would not listen to what he had to say. He looked pale and angry, and returned but curt answers. But White persisted, holding him by the sleeve.

"Mr. Vaughan-bah, what a noise they make-does not wish to vote," he explained. "But in the end he will, sir, it is my opinion, and that will give it to them unless we can bring up Pillinger-which I doubt, sir. Even if we do, it is a tie-"

"Well? Well?" Sir Robert struck in, eyeing him sternly. "What more do we want? The Returning Officer-"

"He will not dare," White whispered, "and if he does, sir, it is my belief he will be murdered. More, if we win they will rush the booth and destroy the books. They have as good as told me they will stick at nothing. Believe me, sir," he continued earnestly, "better than one and one we can't look for now. And better one than none!"

But it was long before Sir Robert would be persuaded. No, defeat or victory, he would fight to the last! He would be beholden to the other side for nothing! White, however, was an honest man and less afraid of his master than usual: and he held to it. And at length the reflection that the bargain would at least shut out his kinsman prevailed with Sir Robert, and he consented.

He was too chivalrous to return on his own side the man whose success would fill his pockets. He elected for Wathen and never doubted that the Bowood interest would return their first love, Wrench. But when the landlord of the Blue Duck was brought up by agreement to vote for a candidate on either side, Pillinger voted by order for Wathen and Vaughan.

"There's some d-d mistake!" shrieked the Squire, as the words reached his ears.

But there was no mistake, and to the silent disgust of the Tories and amid the frantic cheering of the Whigs, the return was made in favour of Sergeant John Wathen, and Arthur Vermuyden Vaughan, esquire. Loud and long was the cheering: the air was black with caps. But when the crowd sought for the two to chair them according to immemorial custom, only the Sergeant could be found, and he with great prudence declined the honour.

XIX

THE FRUITS OF VICTORY