They marched about the streets singing their Marseillaise, ‘Work, Boys, Work and be contented’, to the tune of ‘Tramp, tramp, tramp the Boys are marching’, and at intervals as they tramped along, they gave three cheers for Sir Graball, Tariff Reform, and – Plenty of Work.
Both sides imported gangs of hired orators who held forth every night at the corners of the principal streets, and on the open spaces from portable platforms, and from motor cars and lorries. The Tories said that the Liberal Party in the House of Commons was composed principally of scoundrels and fools, [the Liberals said that the Tory Party were fools and scoundrels. A host of richly dressed canvassers descended upon Windley in carriages and motor cars, and begged for votes from the poverty-stricken working men who lived there.
One evening a Liberal demonstration was held at the Cross Roads on Windley Hill. Notwithstanding the cold weather, there was a great crowd of shabbily dressed people, many of whom had not had a really good meal for months. It was a clear night.] The moon was at the full, and the scene was further illuminated by the fitful glare of several torches, stuck on the end of twelve-foot poles. The platform was a large lorry, and there were several speakers, including Adam Sweater himself and a real live Liberal Peer – Lord Ammenegg. This individual had made a considerable fortune in the grocery and provision line, and had been elevated to the Peerage by the last Liberal Government on account of his services to the Party, and in consideration of other considerations.
Both Sweater and Ammenegg were to speak at two other meetings that night and were not expected at Windley until about eight-thirty, so to keep the ball rolling till they arrived, several other gentlemen, including Rushton – who presided – and Didlum, and one of the five pounds a week orators, addressed the meeting. Mingled with the crowd were about twenty rough-looking men – strangers to the town – who wore huge green rosettes and loudly applauded the speakers. They also distrib-uted Sweater literature and cards with lists of the different meetings that were to be held during the election. These men were bullies hired by Sweater’s agent. They came from the neighbourhood of Seven Dials in London and were paid ten shillings a day. One of their duties was to incite the crowd to bash anyone who disturbed the meetings or tried to put awkward questions to the speakers.
The hired orator was a tall, slight man with dark hair, beard and moustache, he might have been called well-looking if it had not been for an ugly scar upon his forehead, which gave him a rather sinister appearance. He was an effective speaker; the audience punctuated his speech with cheers, and when he wound up with an earnest appeal to them – as working men – to vote for Adam Sweater, their enthusiasm knew no bounds.
‘I’ve seen him somewhere before,’ remarked Barrington, who was standing in the crowd with Harlow, Owen and Easton.
‘So have I,’ said Owen, with a puzzled expression. ‘But for the life of me, I can’t remember where.’
Harlow and Easton also thought they had seen the man before, but their speculations were put an end to by the roar of cheering that heralded the arrival of the motor car, containing Adam Sweater and his friend, Lord Ammenegg. Unfortunately, those who had arranged the meeting had forgotten to provide a pair of steps, so Sweater found it a matter of considerable difficulty to mount the platform. However, while his friends were hoisting and pushing him up, the meeting beguiled the time by singing:
‘Vote, vote, vote for Adam Sweater.’
After a terrible struggle they succeeded in getting him on to the cart, and while he was recovering his wind, Rushton made a few remarks to the crowd. Sweater then advanced to the front, but in consequence of the cheering and singing, he was unable to make himself heard for several minutes.
When at length he was able to proceed, he made a very clever speech – it had been specially written for him and had cost ten guineas. A large part of it consisted of warnings against the dangers of Socialism. Sweater had carefully rehearsed this speech and he delivered it very effectively. Some of those Socialists, he said, were well-meaning but mistaken people, who did not realize the harm that would result if their extraordinary ideas were ever put into practice. He lowered his voice to a blood-curdling stage whisper as he asked:
‘What is this Socialism that we hear so much about, but which so few understand? What is it, and what does it mean?’
Then, raising his voice till it rang through the air and fell upon the ears of the assembled multitude like the clanging of a funeral bell, he continued:
‘It is madness! Chaos! Anarchy! It means Ruin! Black Ruin for the rich, and consequently, of course, Blacker Ruin still for the poor!’
As Sweater paused, a thrill of horror ran through the meeting. Men wearing broken boots and with patches upon the seats and knees, and ragged fringes round the bottoms of the legs of their trousers, grew pale, and glanced apprehensively at each other. If ever Socialism did come to pass, they evidently thought it very probable that they would have to walk about in a sort of prehistoric highland costume, without any trousers or boots at all.
Toil-worn women, most of them dressed in other women’s shabby cast-off clothing – weary, tired-looking mothers who fed their children for the most part on adulterated tea, tinned skimmed milk and bread and margarine, grew furious as they thought of the wicked Socialists who were trying to bring Ruin upon them.
It never occurred to any of these poor people that they were in a condition of Ruin, Black Ruin, already. But if Sweater had suddenly found himself reduced to the same social condition as the majority of those he addressed, there is not much doubt that he would have thought that he was in a condition of Black Ruin.
The awful silence that had fallen on the panic-stricken crowd, was presently broken by a ragged-trousered Philanthropist, who shouted out:
‘We knows wot they are, sir. Most of ’em is chaps wot’s got tired of workin’ for their livin’, so they wants us to keep ’em.’
Encouraged by numerous expressions of approval from the other Philanthropists, the man continued:
‘But we ain’t such fools as they thinks, and so they’ll find out next Monday. Most of ’em wants ’angin’, and I wouldn’t mind lendin’ a ’and with the rope myself.’
Applause and laughter greeted these noble sentiments, and Sweater resumed his address, when another man – evidently a Socialist – for he was accompanied by three or four others who like himself wore red ties – interrupted and said that he would like to ask him a question. No notice was taken of this request either by Mr Sweater or the chairman, but a few angry cries of ‘Order!’ came from the crowd. Sweater continued, but the man again interrupted and the cries of the crowd became more threatening. Rushton started up and said that he could not allow the speaker to be interrupted, but if the gentleman would wait till the end of the meeting, he would have an opportunity of asking his question then.
The man said he would wait as desired; Sweater resumed his oration, and presently the interrupter and his friends found themselves surrounded by the gang of hired bullies who wore the big rosettes and who glared menacingly at them.
Sweater concluded his speech with an appeal to the crowd to deal a ‘Slashing Blow at the Enemy’ next Monday, and then amid a storm of applause, Lord Ammenegg stepped to the front. He said that he did not intend to inflict a long speech upon them that evening, and as it was nomination day tomorrow he would not be able to have the honour of addressing them again during the election; but even if he had wished to make a long speech, it would be very difficult after the brilliant and eloquent address they had just listened to from Mr Sweater, for it seemed to him (Ammenegg) that Adam Sweater had left nothing for anyone else to say. But he would like to tell them of a Thought that had occurred to him that evening. They read in the Bible that the Wise Men came from the East. Windley, as they all knew, was the East end of the town. They were the men of the East, and he was sure that next Monday they would prove that they were the Wise Men of the East, by voting for Adam Sweater and putting him at the top of the poll with a ‘
Thumping Majority’.
The Wise Men of the East greeted Ammenegg’s remarks with prolonged, imbecile cheers, and amid the tumult his Lordship and Sweater got into the motor car and cleared off without giving the man with the red tie or anyone else who desired to ask questions any opportunity of doing so. Rushton and the other leaders got into another motor car, and followed the first to take part in another meeting down-town, which was to be addressed by the great Sir Featherstone Blood.
The crowd now resolved itself into military order, headed by the men with torches and a large white banner on which was written in huge black letters, ‘Our man is Adam Sweater’.
They marched down the hill singing, and when they reached the Fountain on the Grand Parade they saw another crowd holding a meeting there. These were Tories and they became so infuriated at the sound of the Liberal songs and by the sight of the banner, that they abandoned their meeting and charged the processionists. A free fight ensued. Both sides fought like savages, but as the Liberals were outnumbered by about three to one, they were driven off the field with great slaughter; most of the torch poles were taken from them, and the banner was torn to ribbons. Then the Tories went back to the Fountain carrying the captured torches, and singing to the tune of ‘Has anyone seen a German Band?’
‘Has anyone seen a Lib’ral Flag,
Lib’ral Flag, Lib’ral Flag?’
While the Tories resumed their meeting at the Fountain, the Liberals rallied in one of the back streets. Messengers were sent in various directions for reinforcements, and about half an hour afterwards they emerged from their retreat and swooped down upon the Tory meeting. They overturned the platform, recaptured their torches, tore the enemy’s banner to tatters and drove them from their position. Then the Liberals in their turn paraded the streets singing ‘Has anyone seen a Tory Flag?’ and [proceeded to the hall where Sir Featherstone was speaking, arriving as the audience left.]
The crowd that came pouring out of the hall was worked up to a frenzy of enthusiasm, for the speech they had just listened to had been a sort of manifesto to the country.
In response to the cheering of the processionists – who, of course, had not heard the speech, but were cheering from force of habit – Sir Featherstone Blood stood up in the carriage and addressed the crowd, briefly outlining the great measures of Social Reform that his party proposed to enact to improve the condition of the working classes; and as they listened, the Wise Men grew delirious with enthusiasm. He referred to Land Taxes and Death Duties which would provide money to build battleships to protect the property of the rich, and provide Work for the poor. Another tax was to provide a nice, smooth road for the rich to ride upon in motor cars – and to provide Work for the poor. Another tax would be used for Development, which would also make Work for the poor. And so on. A great point was made of the fact that the rich were actually to be made to pay something towards the cost of their road themselves! But nothing was said about how they would get the money to do it. No reference was made to how the workers would be sweated and driven and starved to earn Dividends and Rent and Interest and Profits to put into the pockets of the rich before the latter would be able to pay for anything at all.
‘These are the things, Gentlemen, that we propose to do for you, and, at the rate of progress which we propose to adopt, I say without fear of contradiction, that within the next Five Hundred years we shall so reform social conditions in this country, that the working classes will be able to enjoy some of the benefits of civilization.
‘The only question before you is: Are you willing to wait for Five Hundred Years?’
‘Yes, sir,’ shouted the Wise Men with enthusiasm at the glorious [prospect].
‘Yes, Sir: we’ll wait a thousand years if you like, Sir!’
‘I’ve been waiting all my life,’ said one poor old veteran, who had assisted to ‘carry the “Old Flag” to victory’ times out of number in the past and who for his share of the spoils of those victories was now in a condition of abject, miserable poverty, with the portals of the workhouse yawning open to receive him; ‘I’ve waited all my life, hoping and trusting for better conditions so a few more years won’t make much difference to me.’
‘Don’t you trouble to ’urry yourself, Sir,’ shouted another Solomon in the crowd. ‘We don’t mind waiting. Take your own time, Sir. You know better than the likes of us ’ow long it ought to take.’
In conclusion, the great man warned them against being led away by the Socialists, those foolish, unreasonable, impractical people who wanted to see an immediate improvement in their condition; and he reminded them that Rome was not built in a day.
The Wise Men applauded lustily. It did not appear to occur to any of them that the rate at which the ancient Romans conducted their building operations had nothing whatever to do with the case.
Sir Featherstone Blood sat down amid a wild storm of cheering, and then the procession reformed, and, reinforced by the audience from the hall, they proceeded to march about the dreary streets, singing, to the tune of the ‘Men of Harlech’:
‘Vote for Sweater, Vote for Sweater!
Vote for Sweater, VOTE FOR SWEATER!
‘He’s the Man, who has a plan,
To liberate and reinstate the workers!
‘Men of Mugs’bro’, show your mettle,
Let them see that you’re in fettle!
Once for all this question settle
Sweater shall Prevail!’
The carriage containing Sir Featherstone, Adam Sweater, and Rushton and Didlum was in the middle of the procession. The banner and the torches were at the head, and the grandeur of the scene was heightened by four men who walked – two on each side of the carriage, burning green fire in frying pans. As they passed by the Slave Market, a poor, shabbily dressed wretch whose boots were so worn and rotten that they were almost falling off his feet, climbed up a lamp-post, and taking off his cap waved it in the air and shrieked out: ‘Three Cheers for Sir Featherstone Blood, our future Prime Minister!’
The Philanthropists cheered themselves hoarse and finally took the horses out of the traces and harnessed themselves to the carriage instead.
‘’Ow much wages will Sir Featherstone get if ’e is made Prime Minister?’ asked Harlow of another Philanthropist who was also pushing up behind the carriage.
‘Five thousand a year,’ replied the other, who by some strange chance happened to know. ‘That comes to a ’underd pounds a week.’
‘Little enough, too, for a man like ’im,’ said Harlow.
‘You’re right, mate,’ said the other, with deep sympathy in his voice. ‘Last time ’e ’eld office ’e was only in for five years, so ’e only made twenty-five thousand pounds out of it. Of course ’e got a pension as well – two thousand a year for life, I think it is; but after all, what’s that – for a man like ’im?’
‘Nothing,’ replied Harlow, in a tone of commiseration, and Newman, who was also there, helping to drag the carriage, said that it ought to be at least double that amount.
However, they found some consolation in knowing that Sir Featherstone would not have to wait till he was seventy before he obtained his pension; he would get it directly he came out of office.
The following evening Barrington, Owen and a few others of the same way of thinking, who had subscribed enough money between them to purchase a lot of Socialist leaflets, employed themselves distributing them to the crowds at the Liberal and Tory meetings, and whilst they were doing this they frequently became involved in arguments with the supporters of the capitalist system. In their attempts to persuade others to refrain from voting for either of the candidates, they were opposed even by some who professed to believe in Socialism, who said that as there was no better Socialist candidate the thing to do was to vote for the better of the two. This was the view of Harlow and Easton, whom they met. Harlow had a green ribbon in his buttonhole, but Easton wore D’Encloseland’s colours.
One man said that if he had his way, all those who h
ad votes should be compelled to record them – whether they liked it or not – or be disenfranchised! Barrington asked him if he believed in Tariff Reform. The man said no.
‘Why not?’ demanded Barrington.
The other replied that he opposed Tariff Reform because he believed it would ruin the country. Barrington inquired if he were a supporter of Socialism. The man said he was not, and when further questioned he said that he believed if it were ever adopted it would bring black ruin upon the country – he believed this because Mr Sweater had said so. When Barrington asked him – supposing there were only two candidates, one a Socialist and the other a Tariff Reformer – how would he like to be compelled to vote for one of them, he was at a loss for an answer…
During the next few days the contest continued. The hired orators continued to pour forth their streams of eloquence; and tons of literature flooded the town. The walls were covered with huge posters: ‘Another Liberal Lie.’ ‘Another Tory Fraud.’
Unconsciously each of these two parties put in some splendid work for Socialism, in so much that each of them thoroughly exposed the hypocrisy of the other. If the people had only had the sense, they might have seen that the quarrel between the Liberal and Tory leaders was merely a quarrel between thieves over the spoil; but unfortunately most of the people had not the sense to perceive this. They were blinded by bigoted devotion to their parties, and – inflamed with maniacal enthusiasm – thought of nothing but ‘carrying their flags to victory’.
At considerable danger to themselves, Barrington, Owen and the other Socialists continued to distribute their leaflets and to heckle the Liberal and Tory speakers. They asked the Tories to explain the prevalence of unemployment and poverty in protected countries, like Germany and America, and at Sweater’s meetings they requested to be informed what was the Liberal remedy for unemployment. From both parties the Socialists obtained the same kinds of answer – threats of violence and requests ‘not to disturb the meeting’.
The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists Page 71
