CHAPTER XVI
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.