XII
A ROTTEN BOROUGH
Chippinge, Sir Robert Vermuyden's borough, was in no worse case thantwo-thirds of the small boroughs of that day. Still, of its great menCowley might have written:
_Nothing they but dust can show, Or bones that hasten to be so._
And of its greatness he might have said the same. The one and theother belonged to the past.
The town occupies a low, green hill, dividing two branches of the Avonwhich join their waters a furlong below. Built on the ridge andclinging to the slopes of this eminence the stone-tiled houses lookpleasantly over the gentle undulations of the Wiltshire pastures--nopastures more green; and at a distance are pleasantly seen from them.But viewed more closely--at the date of which we write--thepicturesque in the scene became mean or incongruous. Of the MitredAbbey that crowned the hill and had once owned these fertile slopesthere remained but the maimed hulk, patched and botched, and longdegraded to the uses of that parish church its neighbour, of whichnothing but the steeple survived. The crown-shaped market cross, oncea dream of beauty in stone, still stood, but battered and defaced;while the Abbot's gateway, under which sovereigns had walked, was sunkto a vile lock-up, the due corrective of the tavern which stood cheekby jowl with it.
Still, to these relics, grouped as they were upon an open triangulargreen, the hub of the town, there clung in spite of all some shadow ofgreatness. The stranger whose eye fell on the doorway of the AbbeyChurch, with its whorls of sculptured images, gazed and gazed againwith a sense of wondering awe. But let him turn his back on thesebuildings, and his eye met, in cramped street and blind alley, a lowerdepth. Everywhere were things once fine, sunk to base uses; old stonemansions converted into tenements; the solid houses of mediaevalburghers into crazy taverns; fretted cloisters into pigsties andhovels; a Gothic arch propped the sagging flank of a lath-and-plasterstable. Or if anything of the beauty of a building survived, it wasmasked by climbing penthouses; or, like the White Lion, the old innwhich had been the Abbot's guesthouse, it was altered out of alllikeness to its former self. For the England of '31, gross andmatter-of-fact, was not awake to the value of those relics of a noblepast which generations of intolerance had hurried to decay.
Doubtless in this mouldering, dusty shell was snug, warm living.Georgian comfort had outlived the wig and the laced coat, and thoughthe influence of the Church was at its lowest ebb, and morals were notmuch higher, inns were plenty and flourished, and in the panelledparlours of the White Lion or the Heart and Hand was much good eating,followed by deep drinking. The London road no longer passed throughthe town; the great fair had fallen into disuse. But the cloth trade,by which Chippinge had once thriven, had been revived, and the townwas not quite fallen. Still, of all its former glories, it retainedbut one intact. It returned two members to Parliament. That whichBirmingham and Sheffield had not, this little borough of eighteenhundred souls enjoyed. Fallen in all other points, it retained, orrather its High Steward, Sir Robert Vermuyden, retained the right ofreturning, by the votes of its Alderman and twelve capital burgesses,two members to the Commons' House.
And Sir Robert could not by any stretch of fancy bring himself tobelieve that the town would willingly part with this privilege. Whyshould it strip itself? he argued. It enjoyed the honour vicariously,indeed. But did he not year by year pay the Alderman and eight of thecapital burgesses thirty pounds apiece for their interest, a sum whichquickly filtered through their pockets and enriched the town, besidestaking several of the voters off the rates? Did he not also atelection times set the taps running and distribute a moderate largesseamong the commonalty, and--and in fact do everything which it behoveda liberal and enlightened patron to do? Nay, had he not, since hisaccession, raised the status of the voters, long and vulgarly known as"The Cripples," so that they, who in his father's time had been,almost without exception, drunken illiterates, were now to the extentof at least one half, men of respectable position?
No, Sir Robert wholly declined to believe that Chippinge had any wishfor a change so adverse to its interests. The most he would admit wasthat there might be some slight disaffection in the place, due to thatconfounded Bowood, which was for ever sapping and mining and seekingto rob its neighbours.
But even he was presently to be convinced that there was a very oddspirit abroad in this year '31. The new police and the new steamrailways and this cholera of which people were beginning to talk, werenot the only new things. There were new ideas in the air; and thebirds seemed to carry them. They took possession not only of thetroublesome and discontented--poachers whom Sir Robert had gaoled, orthe sons of men whom his father had pressed--but of the most unlikelypeople. Backs that had never been aught but pliant grew stiff. Men whohad put up with the old system for more years than they could remembergrew restive. Others, who had all their lives stood by while theirinferiors ruled the roost, discovered that they had rights. Nay--andthis was the strangest thing of all--some who had thriven by the oldmanagement and could not hope to gain by a change revolted, after thefashion of Dyas the butcher, and proved the mastery of mind overmatter. Not many, indeed, these; martyrs for ideas are rare. But theiraction went for much, and when later the great mass of the votelessbegan to move, there were rats in plenty of the kind that desertsinking ships. By that time he was a bold man who in tavern orworkshop spoke for the rule of the few, to which Sir Robert fondlybelieved his borough to be loyal.
His agent had never shared that belief, fortunately for him; or he hadhad a rude awakening on the first Monday in May. It was customary forthe Vermuyden interest to meet the candidates on the Chippenham road,half an hour before the dinner hour, and to attend them in processionthrough the town to the White Lion. Often this was all that thecommonalty saw of an election, and a little horseplay was bothexpected and allowed. In old days, when the "Cripples" had belonged tothe very lowest class, their grotesque appearance in the van of thegentlemanly interest had given rise to many a home-jest. The crowdwould follow them, jeering and laughing, and there would be somepushing, and a drunken man or two would fall. But all had passed ingood humour; the taps had been running in one interest, the ale wasSir Robert's, and the crowd envied while they laughed.
White, as he stood on the bridge reviewing the first comers, wished hemight have no worse to expect to-day. But he did not hope as much. Thetown was crowded, and the streets down to the bridge were so cumberedwith moving groups that it was plain the procession would have to pushits way. For certain, too, many of the people did not belong toChippinge. With the townsfolk White knew he could deal. He did notbelieve that there was a Chippinge man who, eye to eye with him, wouldcast a stone. But here were yokels from Calne and Bowood, who knew notSir Robert; with Bristol lambs and men as dangerous, and not a fewRadicals from a distance, rabid with zeal and overflowing withpromises. Made up of such elements the crowd hooted from time to time,and there was a threat in the sound that filled White with misgivings.
Nor was this the worst. The cloth factory stood close to the bridge.The procession must pass it. And the hands employed in it, hostile toa man, were gathered before the doorway, in their aprons and papercaps, waiting to give the show a reception. They had much to sayalready, their jeers and taunts filling the air; but White had ashrewd suspicion that they had worse missiles in their pockets.
Still, he had secured the attendance of a score of sturdy fellows,sons of Sir Robert's farmers, and these, with a proportion of thetagrag and bobtail of the town, gave a fairly solid aspect to hisparty. Nor was the jeering all on one side, though that deep andunpleasant groaning which now and again rolled down the street waswholly Whiggish.
Alas, it was when the agent came to analyse his men that he had mostneed of the smile that deceives. True, the rector was there and thecurate of Eastport, and the clerk and the sexton--the two last-namedwere voters. And there were also four or five squires arrayed insupport of the gentlemanly interest, and as many young bucks com
e tosee the fun. Then there were three other voters: the Alderman, whowas a small grocer, and Annibal the basketmaker--these two werestalwarts--and Dewell the barber, also staunch, but a timid man. Therewas no Dyas, however, Sir Robert's burliest supporter in old days, andhis absence was marked. Nor any Thrush the pig-killer--the jaws of aRadical gaol held him. Nor, last and heaviest blow of all--for it hadfallen without warning--was there any Pillinger of the Blue Duck.Pillinger, his wife said, was ill. What was worse he was in the handsof a Radical doctor capable, the agent believed, of hocussing himuntil the polling was over. The truth about Pillinger--whether he layill or whether he lay shamming, whether he was at the mercy of theapothecary or under the thumb of his wife--White could not learn. Hehoped to learn it before it was too late. But for the presentPillinger was not here.
The Alderman, Annibal, Dewell, the clerk, the sexton, and ArthurVaughan. White totted them up again and again and made them six. TheBowood voters he made five--four stalwarts and Dyas the butcher.
Certainly he might still poll Pillinger. But, on the other hand, Mr.Vaughan might arrive too late. White had written to his address intown, and receiving no answer had sent an express to Bristol on thechance that the young gentleman was still there. Probably he would bein time. But when things are so very close--and when there were alarmand defeat in the air--men grow nervous. White smiled as he chattedwith the pompous Rector and the country squires, but he was veryanxious. He thought of old Sir Robert at Stapylton, and he sweated atthe notion of defeat. Cobbett had reached his mind, but Sir Robert hadhis heart!
"Boo!" moaned the crowd higher up the street. The sound sank and theharsh voice of a speaker came fitfully over the heads of the people.
"Who's that?" asked old Squire Rowley, one of the country gentlemen.
"Some spouter from Bristol, sir, I fancy," the agent repliedcontemptuously. And with his eye he whipped in a couple ofhobbledehoys who seemed inclined to stray towards the enemy.
"I suppose," the Squire continued, lowering his voice, "you can dependon your men, White?"
"Oh, Lord, yes, sir," White answered; like a good election agent hetook no one into his confidence. "We've enough here to do the trick.Besides, young Mr. Vaughan will be here to-morrow, and the landlord ofthe Blue Duck, who is not well enough to walk to-day, will poll. He'dbreak his heart, bless you," White continued, with a brow of brass,"if he could not vote for Sir Robert!"
"Seven to five."
"Seven to four, sir."
"But Dyas, I hear, the d----d rogue, will vote against you?"
White winked.
"Bad," he said cryptically, "but not as bad as that, sir."
"Oh! oh!" quoth the other, nodding, "I see." And then, glancing at thegang before the cloth works, whose taunts of "Flunkies!" and "Sellyour birthright, will you?" were constant and vicious, "You've no fearthere'll be violence, White?" he asked.
"Lord, no, sir," White answered; "you know what election rows are, allbark and no bite!"
"Still I hear that at Bath, where I'm told Lord Brecknock stands apoor chance, they are afraid of a riot."
"Ay, ay, sir," White answered indifferently, "this isn't Bath."
"Precisely," the Rector struck in, in pompous tones. "I should like tosee anything of that kind here! They would soon," he continued with anair, "find that I am not on the commission of the peace for nothing! Ishall make, and I am sure you will make," he went on, turning to hisbrother justice, "very short work of them! I should like to seeanything of that kind tried here!"
White nodded, but in his heart he thought that his reverence waslikely to have his wish gratified. However, no more was said, for theapproach of the Stapylton carriages, with their postillions, outridersand favours, was signalled by persons who had been placed to watch forthem, and the party on the bridge, falling into violent commotion,raised their flags and banners and hastened to form an escort oneither side of the roadway. As the gaily-decked carriages halted onthe crest of the bridge, loud greetings were exchanged. The fivevoters took up a position of honour, seats in the carriages were foundfor three or four of the more important gentry, and seven or eightothers got to horse. Meanwhile those of the smaller folk, who thoughtthat they had a claim to the recognition of the candidates, weregratified, and stood back blushing, or being disappointed stood backglowering; all this amid confusion and cheering on the bridge andshrill jeers on the part of the cloth hands. Then the flags were wavedaloft, the band of five, of which the drummer could truly say "_Parsmagna fui_," struck up "See, the Conquering Hero Comes!" and Whitestood back for a last look.
Then, "Shout, lads, shout!" he cried, waving his hat. "Don't let 'emhave it all their own way!" And with a roar of defiance, not quite soloud or full as the gentlemanly interest had raised of old, theprocession got under way, and, led by a banner bearing "Our AncientConstitution!" in blue letters on a red ground, swayed spasmodicallyup the street. The candidates for the suffrages of the electors ofChippinge had passed the threshold of the borough. "Hurrah! Yah!Hurrah! Yah! Yah! Yah! Down with the Borough-mongers. Our AncientConstitution! Hurrah! Boo! Boo!"
White had his eye on the clothmen, and under its spell they did not gobeyond hooting and an egg or two, spared from the polling day, andflung at long range when the Tories had passed. No one was struck, andthe carriages moved onward, more or less triumphantly. SergeantWathen, who was in the first, and whose sharp black eyes moved hitherand thither in search of friends, rose repeatedly to bow. But Mr.Cooke, who did not forget that he was paying two thousand five hundredpounds for his seat, and thought that it should be a soft one,scarcely deigned to move. For as the procession advanced into the townthe clamour of the crowd which lined the narrow High Street andcontinually shouted "The Bill! The Bill!" drowned the utmost effortsof Sir Robert's friends, and left no doubt of the popular feeling.
There was some good-humoured pushing and thrusting, the drum beatingand the church bells jangling bravely above the hubbub. And once ortwice the rabble came near to cutting the procession in two. But therewas no real attempt at mischief, and all went well until the foremostcarriage was abreast of the Cross, which stands at the head of theHigh Street, where the latter debouches into the space before theAbbey.
Then some foolish person gave the word to halt before Dyas thebutcher's. And a voice--it was not White's--cried, "Three groans forthe Radical Rat! Rat! Rat!"
The groans were given before the crowd fully understood their meaningor the motive for the stoppage. The drummer beat out something whichhe meant for the Rogues' March, and an unseen hand raising a largedead rat, tied to a stick, waved it before the butcher's first-floorwindows.
The effect was surprising--to old-fashioned folk. In a twinkling, witha shout of "Down with the Borough-mongers!" a gang of white-apronedclothmen rushed the rear of the procession, drove it in upon the mainbody, and amid screams and uproar forced the whole line out of thenarrow street into the space before the Abbey. Fortunately the WhiteLion, which faced the Abbey, stood only a score of paces to the leftof the Cross, and the carriages were able to reach it; but indisorder, pressed on by such a fighting, swaying, shouting crowd asChippinge had not seen for many a year.
It was no time to stand on dignity. The candidates tumbled out as bestthey could, their chief supporters followed them, and while half adozen single combats proceeded at their elbows, they hastened acrossthe pavement into the house. The Rector alone disdained to flee. Onceon the threshold of the inn, he turned and raised his hat above hishead:
"Order!" he cried, "Order! Do you hear me!"
But "Yah! Borough-monger!" the rabble answered, and before he couldsay more a young farmer was hurled against him, and a whip, of which apostillion had just been despoiled, whizzed past his head. He, too,turned tail at that, with his face a shade paler than usual; and withhis retreat resistance ceased. The carriages were hustled somehow andanyhow into the yard, and there the greater part of the processionalso took refuge. A few, sad to say, sneaked off and got rid of theirbadges, and a few more escaped thro
ugh a neighbouring alley. No onewas much hurt; a few black eyes were the worst of the mischief, norcould it be said that any vindictive feeling was shown. But the townwas swept clear, and the victory of the Radicals was complete. Left inpossession of the open space before the Abbey, they paraded for sometime under the windows of the White Lion, waving a captured flag, andcheering and groaning by turns.
Meantime in the hall of the inn the grandees were smoothing theirruffled plumes, in a state of mind in which it was hard to say whetherindignation or astonishment had larger place. Oaths flew thick ashail, unrebuked by the Church, the most outspoken perhaps being by thelandlord, who met them with a pale face.
"Good Lord, good Lord, gentlemen!" he said, "what violence! Whatviolence! What are we coming to next? What's took the people,gentlemen? Isn't Sir Robert here?"
For to this simple person it seemed impossible that people shouldbehave badly in that presence.
"No, he's not!" Mr. Cooke answered with choler. "I'd like to know whyhe's not! I wish to Heaven"--only he did not say "Heaven"--"that hewere here, and he'd see what sort of thing he has let us into!"
"Ah, well, ah, well!" returned the more discreet and philosophicSergeant, "shouting breaks no bones. We are all here, I hope? Andafter all, this shows up the Bill in a pretty strong light, eh,Rector? If it is to be carried by methods such as these--these---"
"D----d barefaced intimidation!" Squire Rowley growled.
"Or if it is to give votes to such persons as these----"
"D----d Jacobins! Republicans every one!" interposed the Squire.
"It will soon be plain to all," the Sergeant concluded, in his Houseof Commons manner, "that it is a most revolutionary, dangerous,and--and unconstitutional measure, gentlemen."
"By G--d!" Mr. Cooke cried--he was thinking that if this was the kindof thing he was to suffer he might as well have fought Taunton orPreston, or any other open borough, and kept his money in hispocket--"by G--d, I wish Lord John were stifled in the mud he'sstirred up, and Gaffer Grey with him!"
"You can add Bruffam, if you like," Wathen answeredgood-humouredly--he was not paying two thousand five hundred guineasfor his seat. "And rid me of a rival and the country of a pest, Cooke!But come, gentlemen, now we're here and no bones broken, shall we sitdown? We are all safe, I trust, Mr. White? And especially--my futureconstituents?" with a glance of his shrewd Jewish-looking eyes.
"Yes, sir, no harm done," White replied as cheerfully as he could;which was not overcheerfully, for in all his experience of Chippingehe had known nothing like this; and he was a trifle scared. "Yes,sir," he continued, looking round, "all here, I think! And--and byJove," in a tone of relief, "one more than I expected! Mr. Vaughan! Iam glad, sir, very glad, sir," he added heartily, "to see you. Veryglad!"
The young man who had alighted from his postchaise a few minutesbefore did not, in appearance at least, reciprocate the feeling. Helooked sulky and bored. But he shook the outstretched hand; he coulddo no less. Then, saying scarcely a word, he stood back again. He hadhastened to Chippinge on receiving White's belated express, but ratherbecause, irritated by the collision with Flixton, he welcomed anychange, than because he was sure what he would do. In the chaise hehad thought more of Mary than of politics, more of the Honourable Bobthan of his cousin. And though, as far as Sir Robert was concerned, hewas resolved to be frank and to play the man, his mind had travelledno farther.
Now, thrown suddenly among these people, he was, in a churlish way,taken somewhat aback. But, in a thoroughly bad temper, he told himselfit did not matter. If they did not like the line he was going to take,that was their business. He was not responsible to them. In fine, hewas in a savage mood, with half his mind here and the other halfdwelling on the events of the morning. For the moment politics seemedto him a poor game, and what he did or did not do of littleconsequence!
White and the others were not blind to his manner, and might haveresented it in another. But Sir Robert's heir was a great man and hada right to moods if any man had; doubtless he was become a finegentleman and thought it a nuisance to vote in his own borough. Theywere all politeness to him, therefore, and while his eyes passedhaughtily beyond them, seeking Sir Robert, they presented to him thosewhom he did not know.
"Very kind of you to come, Mr. Vaughan," said the Sergeant, who, likemany browbeaters, could be a sycophant at need. "Very kind indeed! Idon't know whether you know Mr. Cooke? He, equally with me, is obligedto you for your attendance."
"Greatly obliged, sir," Mr. Cooke muttered. "Certainly, certainly."
Vaughan bowed coldly.
"Is not Sir Robert here?" he asked.
He was still looking beyond those to whom he spoke.
"No, Mr. Vaughan."
And then, "This way to dinner," White cried loudly. "Come, gentlemen!Dinner, gentlemen, dinner!"
And Vaughan, heedless what he did or where he dined, but inclined in asardonic way to amuse himself, went in with them. What did it matter?He was not going to vote for them. But that was his business, and SirRobert's. He was not responsible to them.
Certainly he was in a very bad temper.
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