A PATRIOTIC BARBER IN FAULT

A FEW years ago I was employed to watch “the other side” in a hotly contested election. It was my first engagement of the kind, and I sharpened my wits in order that I might fairly earn my fee,—which the reader may be glad to know was a handsome one. Perhaps he may also be pleased to learn that I am an impartial man. It is true that, on the occasion I now speak of, I was employed by the agent of the Liberal candidate; but I have, on other subsequent occasions, rendered service, and I believe good service, to Conservative gentlemen who now wear the title of M.P. During this election many curious little incidents took place, as they always do at elections, and one of them I propose to relate. By the way, there is nothing which quickens human ingenuity like a vigorous electioneering struggle. Wit, humour, desperate practical joking, and ingenious stratagems, crowd in such exciting profusion, that sometimes the strict rules of moral propriety are hidden or get confused before the eyes of the parties concerned. Sometimes I think I behaved unhandsomely towards the barber of whom I am about to speak. At other times I think it served him right. The reader shall decide between my first and my second thoughts on this head.

In the borough of W—— there lived one John Shufflebotham, a barber who earned a livelihood—that is to say, earned or got money to buy scanty food, little raiment, plenty of beer, and a liberal supply of stronger waters for the consumption of himself and Mrs. Shufflebotham—by the exercise of his trade, or “profession,” as he styled it, and it was believed in no other way. This barber had a reputation for shaving his customers as clean as they could wish for a penny each—and he would do the job at half the price for regular patrons—and for cropping any rough and stubborn head of hair, popular tradition, and the tariff on his door-post, declared threepence to be a fixed or immovable charge. This, however, was not the only character which John Shufflebotham enjoyed. He was esteemed a man of principle; thoroughly incorruptible. Not a breath of suspicion of his political honesty had ever been floated on the turbid atmosphere of W—— at the most prying time—say just after the settlement of accounts between the “free and independent voters” and the candidates. I was told that John Shufflebotham wouldn’t require to be looked after. He had never taken a bribe, and to offer him one would insure any man an ignominious chastisement. The barber was a stout man, and although beer or whisky had perhaps softened his brain a little, and rendered his muscles somewhat flaccid, there was strength enough in his legs to wield a heavy boot with almost terrible force.

This barber had acquired a degree of influence over sterling, honest working men by his reputed incorruptibility to an extent that he would not otherwise have gained, so that it became rather important to obtain his support on behalf of our candidate.

At the commencement of the struggle it was believed that John Shufflebotham would, as a matter of course, vote for our candidate; but this was a miscalculation. It appeared that something had turned the current of his political sympathies. He was down in the former poll-book as having voted for the Liberals, and so it was expected that he would vote again, bringing with him to the hustings about twenty honest fellows who believed in him.

On the contrary, he soon intimated that he had come to believe the Whigs were a little worse than the Tories. He did not think they cared, either of them, for poor working men like him or any of his customers, but that they (the Whigs and Tories) were both thieves. If he must vote, he would turn and turn about. Perhaps he should be inclined to give the Tories a turn this time; but he didn’t know. He wasn’t at all sure about it either way.

This man’s defection from our cause produced a little alarm. The feeling of which he appeared to be the exponent was also, upon inquiry, found rather more extensive than was at first thought possible. It ran beyond the pale or circle of the barber’s supposed influence; and to make matters rather worse, the barber, when assailed by a patron for apostasy, or urged to stand by his old colours, was compelled, as he said, to argufy in his own justification, which attracted other customers to his house, and it became the arena of controversy. John Shufflebotham was acquiring a reputation for oratory, in addition to his other qualities.

It was not my proper business to win over friends. My function was to look after foes; but I was taken into confidence about the case of John Shufflebotham. The chief agent of the candidate quoted the observation of some old dead statesman about every man having his price, and I agreed with him to learn what the price of the vote and influence of John Shufflebotham might be. This view was arrived at by our agent only the day before polling, and it was then overruled by one or two people in the secrets of the head committee-room, who had a control over the incidents of the election.

Next day the polling began. It was a day of wild excitement. Beer and spirits and food were distributed ad libitum to the whole population by one side and the other. Drunkenness was the only general characteristic of civilisation in that parliamentary borough by twelve o’clock on the day for electing one of the prime wisdoms of the country to represent that town in the Legislature of Great Britain. Money was being spent profusely in bribes; voters had been “bottled”—that is to say, made drunk and then fastened up in a public or other house. These were the men who could not be induced to vote for us, or who dared not so vote because of something or other, but who voluntarily submitted to this process as a mid-way of service to us. Some electors were at any risk drugged, and hindered from obeying the dictates of political feeling. Some men were taken out of the town in vehicles. Respectability of every kind hid its head. Ruffianism and common vice of every kind had all their own way.

John Shufflebotham had not yet voted, nor had many of his friends. The Tories had lauded him as “a sterling, honest, worthy, good fellow;” as “a man of great political sagacity, who had yielded to the voice of reason,” and “as one who had renounced the errors of political life, and determined to assert, in his own person, the rights of matured conscience.”

They had fawned upon him; they had coaxed and wheedled him; they had held out every kind of future inducement and deferred benefit before his eyes—but John Shufflebotham had not been induced to give a vote, or the pledge of a vote, to the Conservative. He had made no distinct or visible sign of yielding to us, still it was observed that he had not been so lavish in the censure of our candidate during the previous day, or during the day of election, as before.

We had been prepared for his hostility, but hardly knew what to do with his neutrality. We had expected to find him leading a body of voters to the hustings for the Tories. Jem Smash, the head of our best gang of prizefighters, had accordingly received instructions to bestow the courtesy of his underlings upon the barber and the barber’s friends.

Some of the liberal tradesmen of the borough of W—— were gloating over the satisfaction of seeing the barber “doubled up,” and a few of his believers horribly maltreated. This gratification had, up to the present moment, been denied them; and after much deliberation on the subject, it was not thought safe to commence an attack upon the humble abode of the recalcitrant worthy. Such a step might have brought some of our top people into disgrace, as an attorney, who had been retained at a heavy cost to advise our candidate and his friends from time to time how much iniquity they might perform without danger to their own persons or purses, was good enough to inform them. Such a proceeding, dictated or suggested in the committee-room, might be brought home to its occupants, and involve a lot of respectabilities as well as ruffians concerned therein to a mingled punishment.

As we could not retaliate upon Barber Shufflebotham for his obstinacy, apostasy, or whatever it was, we determined to see if he could not be won or bought over. The lawyer, and I, and the principal agent, who was not a lawyer, went into a little room to discuss this matter, and ultimately settled that I should first approach the barber. I did so; and as I do not want to incur a charge of immodesty from the reader’s lips, I omit an explanation of my visit. Let it be simply stated that I found the barber vulnerable on the statesmanlike point. I ascertained that he had a price; and the price was not, after all, a very large one, seeing the extent of the influence which he had to give, as well as his vote. The price was 100l. I struck the bargain with him—with a reservation that I hope may be forgiven, as well as the trick I also meditated and carried out.

One thing the barber stipulated. Appearances must be somehow saved, and (clever dog he was) he suggested to me how that could be done. There were two points in the political programme of the candidate which, John Shufflebotham and his friends contended a gentleman worthy of a vote ought to be prepared to support—one was universal suffrage, the other was vote by ballot. The barber said his men must be told that the candidate would meet them at least half-way. If this were arranged, and he were paid 100l., he would recommend his friends to vote with him for the Liberal. I agreed, not that the candidate should make these professions, but that somebody on his behalf should give that explanation to Shufflebotham and his immediate tail or circle.

I went back to the committee-room, and explained to the attorney and agent how I proposed to act. They laughed outright as long as they could afford time to laugh, which was not much; for minutes were precious, as my scheme required an hour and a half, or perhaps two hours, for the working out. I went back to the barber, and arranged that he should jump into a cab and run over the town, which was not large, and call his friends together at the Pig and Whistle in Backstairs Street, to receive a communication from the Liberal candidate.

I looked at my watch. It was then half-past twelve. The poll closed at four. There was a train from the town of W—— to the town of B——, which started at 12:45. It would not take long to cover that distance in a carriage drawn by the iron horse. There was a train returning from B—— to W—— at 2 p.m. precisely. That would do. I also arranged that an orator who had been employed for the purpose of addressing the political intellect of the free and independent electors of W——, should attend the Pig and Whistle on behalf of our candidate, and make one of his smooth, flowing, rapid, ornate addresses.

This gentleman could talk against time. He was to spout until he had “the office” to shut up his limpid stream of talk.

The orator did his business first rate. From what I recollect of that speech, I wonder that he deserted his title of barrister-at-law, turned aside from the ambition of wearing M.P. after his own name at some future date, and settled down, as he did, into the secretary of some association having its location eastward of the Royal Exchange.

Our hired barrister-at-law addressed the Shufflebotham circle as honest, noble fellows, whose adherence to principle was one of the most refreshing examples of political determination he had ever met in his life. He praised Shufflebotham as a man who had won an influence over his fellow-men, which a tyrant might envy, but could never command, through a stern and inflexible course of honest industry spread over an ample term of existence. Shufflebotham here turned a little red in the face; some people thought him modest, and took that crimson to be a blush. No doubt it was a blush, but whether of honesty or of shame I need not stay to point out.

After the orator had been speaking for some time, my man returned, and I received an intimation of that fact. The orator also got a nod and a very slight wink from me, when he stated that he had been requested to make an explanation to them, but he felt somewhat exhausted by what he had already done, and he therefore asked their permission to leave that explanation to be made by his friend Mr. Yellowly, who sat by his side; and then, after a peroration, in which he talked a good deal about the moon, and the stars, and the four winds of heaven, and the British Lion, and the flag that braved a thousand years, and honest industry, he sat down amid such applause as I have only heard at the Pig and Whistle and in very large assemblies.

Mr. Yellowly, the attorney, rose, and said that he regretted he had not the eloquence of his learned friend; also that, as he was a plain man of business, he would address himself to the explanation he had to offer in very few words. The fact he was intrusted to announce, he hoped he might do in confidence; it was, that although our candidate could not go so far as universal suffrage, that most honourable and enlightened gentleman would go a long way in that direction, much longer than he even thought it prudent to express upon the hustings his intentions to go, lest he should excite the prejudices of the middle classes, and secure, by an indiscreet frankness, the return of their Tory antagonist. In reply to an inquiry, Mr. Yellowly said he could not exactly tell how far the candidate would go in the extension of the franchise, but no doubt he would go as far as they desired—say to the admission within the pale of the British constitution of the 2l. 10s. householders. As for the ballot—that most important political principle—the Liberal candidate would vote for such a shield being drawn over the poor but honest elector.

Shufflebotham played his part well—the rascal! He affected to be a little doubtful unless the explanation was made in public. Mr. Yellowly strongly appealed to the common sense of his auditors not to peril the election just at this moment (when the Tories were four ahead of the Liberals) by so indiscreet a demand. One simple-hearted man thought Shufflebotham was a little too particular and suspicious. He thought the gentleman, Mr. Yellowly, was right. Shufflebotham said he did not want to be a dictator. He was satisfied, if the others were. I, at that moment, suggested that they had better not be long making up their minds, for it was now a quarter past three o’clock, and the poll closed at four. It was then speedily settled that Shufflebotham and his men should, as a body, go up and vote for the Liberal candidate.

Our chief agent here craved five minutes—saying he thought they ought to have a band of music. He secretly determined to grace the final coup by a demonstration in which three bands were to play their part. He also privately determined to bring Jem Smash, and all his fighting men, and all the other hired ruffians, to guard our new contingent, in case the enemy, suspecting a trick, should set their forces in battle array against our unprotected citizens. We should lose the election if even a short delay arose from an attack upon us. Shufflebotham thought they might as well have a little music.

I was not at all sorry it was so arranged. I wanted to have a few words with Shufflebotham by himself, and to let him have a taste of my quality and smartness, or perhaps I should rather say, whet his appetite for that taste.

The barber led me outside to the yard of the Pig and Whistle, and addressing me, inquired, “I suppose you have got the money all right?”

“Oh, yes,” I replied.

“Will you give it us, then?”

“No,” I said; “I cannot do that until you and your men have voted, you know.”

“How am I to know that you will give it me then? No d—tricks, or by G—your gentleman” (meaning the candidate) “shall suffer for it, as true as my name’s John Shufflebotham.”

Things had worked more felicitously than I had anticipated, or than my plans were estimated to work. I now saw that the patriotic barber was already outwitted, if I chose to break faith with him at this point. He was bound to vote as his men did, or if he slunk away he had secured them for us. It was now impossible to invent another excuse to those truly honest fellows for reversing their collective decision. Still I thought it would be as well to keep in with the barber to the last. I wanted to let him and some people see how neatly I could work out the stratagem.

“Well, I think you have as much right to trust me as I have to trust you,” I said; “but I don’t mind meeting you half-way. I don’t care whether you do or not, though. I know those honest fellows will go up and vote for our man. You cannot prevent that now, can you, Mr. Shufflebotham? If you try to spoil our game (which I don’t think you can spoil), our bargain is off, and I sha’n’t feel bound to give you any thing, whether you succeed in upsetting it or not.”

Shufflebotham saw that he was practically done, in the matter of security at least, and that he must entirely trust in me; so he agreed to meet me half-way.

“What do you mean to do, then?” said Shufflebotham, and as he spoke the sound of wind-instruments floated on the summer breeze.

It was evident that the musicians were coming in the direction of the Pig and Whistle.

I was afraid of the finishing touches of my artifice being a little marred, so I hastily said,

“Well, look here: here’s a hundred-pound note. I divide it in halves. I give you one half now” (the musicians stopped, and I had to make this speech a little longer, so as to spin out the moments, and I proceeded to say slowly): “To-morrow morning, as early as you like, you come up to the central committee-room and ask for me, and I will give you the other half. I might say this evening. It would be quite as well, perhaps; but some people with sharp eyes may be about. Now mind, Shufflebotham, don’t tell any one of this. I would not have it known for the whole world. It would do you harm, you know. Keep it dark, like the blackest secret of our lives. Don’t get drunk to-night, or you will let it out.”

The musicians had arrived within a few feet of the door of the Pig and Whistle. The barber had been waiting in terrible anxiety for me to hand him over his half security, and I now wanted to do it without delay. The note, which was for 100l., had been divided in halves, and was ready for my device. I handed him over his half, which he rapidly thrust into his trousers-pocket, and left me as he might leave a tormentor, shouting out, “Come along, lads, and hear the music.”

The procession moved forward amid deafening huzzas, and a volume of what I must, I suppose, as a matter of courtesy, call music, and the bewilderment of many spectators. Shufflebotham shouted, in well-feigned glee,

“All right, my lads; he’s a right ’un. We are all going to vote for him;” and sundry other more extravagant exclamations.

Twenty-three votes were recorded by ten minutes to four by John Shufflebotham and his friends, without let or hindrance from Tory prizefighters, roughs, or any other men. Shufflebotham did get drunk that night, and I neither saw nor heard any more of him until next morning.

Next day, about ten o’clock in the morning, John Shufflebotham called upon me at the committee-room as arranged. I preferred to have the attorney and the agent with me at this interview.

“Well, John Shufflebotham,” I was the first to say, “I suppose you have come for the other half of your note?”

The patriotic barber, who had sold his vote and influence, looked a little sheepish and timid.

I said, “It is all right. These gentlemen are the lawyers; they know all about every thing connected with the election, and they are of course in our secret.”

“They know what I want, then?”

“Yes, here it is,” I observed, handing over to him the other half of the note which he sought; but as I did so, I said, “It is of no use to you. It is a Bank-of-Elegance note, which another man of your trade in B—— gives away in the street.”

Whether Shufflebotham had examined the first half of his note, I cannot say; but I had caused the print to be divided in such a way (to guard against accidents) that he would see the words “Bank of E,” and no more of the title of the establishment from which it purported to have been issued, and he was too illiterate or inexperienced in bank-notes to discover that the paper itself was not of the kind made for the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street.

The patriotic barber was thunderstruck. He was speechless for a moment or two with disappointment and mortification. When he had partly recovered himself, he stamped once, and swore in about two sentences that we were plunderers, and that he would have us prosecuted for circulating bad money. Our attorney thought this a good joke. It was one of a sort that he could appreciate; so drawing upon his imagination for his law, by way of retort Mr. Yellowly informed Mr. Shufflebotham that he had been treated as he deserved, that he had “better keep a quiet tongue in his head,” that, at all events, he must behave himself in that room, or he would be kicked out by one of our roughs in close attendance, and that he might also get transported for bribery.

The barber gnashed his teeth, and went away not rejoicing. I believe he has voted twice for the Tories since that day, without fee or reward—unless vengeance upon his Liberal betrayers was his motive and his compensation.