There are those who consider that Algeria ought to belong to the Arabs, that Africa belongs to the blacks, and India to the Hindoos. Sat there comes this awkward item of possession. You have to buy the man in possession out, or else pitch him out; and the difficulty in this case was that there were so many in possession. Eight companies and a Corporation are not easily ejected.

The fact was, the grand family council was a farce, and fell through.

Even as a demonstration it completely failed. The members of it might just as well have stayed at home, and sent a monster pet.i.tion to the House of Lords, several hundred yards long (as per the usual custom now-a-days), and their progress would have been about as great.

The _Stirmingham Daily News_, which had published the life of Sternhold Baskette, and defended his legitimate line, poured bitter satire upon it, and held the whole business up to ridicule--as well it might. The _News_ was now Conservative. The intense self-conceit of the Yankees-- to imagine that they were going to quietly take possession of a great English city, and hoist the Stars and Stripes on Saint George's Cathedral at Stirmingham!

The American gentlemen fumed and fussed, and uttered threats of making the Stirmingham claim a feature in the next Presidential election--it should "leave the low sphere of personal contention, and enter the arena of political discussion;" so they said. It should be a new _Alabama_ case; and if they could not have Stirmingham, they would have--the Dollars!

Meantime the dollars disappeared rather rapidly, and, after a month or six weeks of these endless wranglings in the Sternhold Hall, there began to be symptoms of an early break-up. First, three or four, then ten, then a dozen, crept off, and quietly sailed for New York, lighter in pocket, and looking rather foolish. The body, however, of the claimants could not break up in that ignominious manner. It was necessary for them to do something to mark the fact that they had been there, at all events.

The final result was that they appointed a committee of solicitors--one for each section that chose to be represented. Twenty-two sections did choose, and twenty-two solicitors formed the English committee who were to promote the claims of one hundred and fifty able-bodied Baskettes and Sibboldians, who represented about three times that number of women and children. Then they held a banquet in the Sternhold Hall, and invited the Mayor of Stirmingham, who, however, was very busy that evening, and "deeply regretted" his inability to be present. The council then broke up, and departed for New York.

Aymer was indeed glad; now he should be able to see Violet again, and resume his book so long laid aside. But no; there came a new surprise.

A certain recalcitrant borough in the West returned unexpectedly a member of the wrong colour to Parliament, and the House was dissolved, and writs were issued for a general election. Three days afterwards an address appeared in the _Stirmingham Daily News_, announcing Marese Baskette as a candidate for that place in the Conservative interest.

The heir had resolved to enter the House if possible, and his proclamation fell on Stirmingham, not like a thunderbolt, but like the very apple of discord dropped from heaven.

First, it upset poor Aymer's little plans and hopes. The companies were desperately alarmed, and not without reason; for if Marese got into Parliament he would, no doubt, very quickly become in himself a power, and would be supported by his party in his claim upon the building societies. It would be to the interest of his party that he should obtain his property--it would be so much substantial gain to them.

Practically, Marese Baskette would have the important borough of Stirmingham in his pocket; therefore the party would be sure to do all they could to get his claim fully admitted. Imagine that party in power; fancy the chief at the head of Government!

Every one knows that justice and equity are immaculate in England, and that no strain is ever put upon them for political purposes, or to gratify political supporters. The fact is so well understood, so patent, that it is unnecessary to adduce any proof of it. But there is, nevertheless, a certain indefinite feeling that the complexion of the political party in power extends very widely, and penetrates into quarters supposed to be remote from its centre. Whichever happens to be uppermost--but let us not even think such treasonable things.

At all events the companies had a real dread--a heartfelt fear--lest Marese Baskette should get into Parliament, and so obtain political support to his claim. They had foreseen something of the kind; they had dreaded its happening any time ever since he came of age; but they had reckoned that his known poverty would keep him out, especially as there was a very popular landlord in the county, Sir Jasper Norton, who, with another prominent supporter of the Liberal Government, had hitherto proved invincible. It had hung over their heads for years; now it had fallen, and fallen, of all other times, just at the very moment when their leases were on the point of expiring. A more unfortunate moment for them could not have been chosen. With one consent they resolved to fight him tooth and nail. This was fatal to poor Aymer's hopes. For the company (Number 6) which employed Shaw, Shaw, and Simson could not possibly spare Mr Broughton's energetic spirit; he must help them fight the coming man. Broughton, seeing good fees and some sport, resolved, to stay, and with him poor Aymer had to remain.

The whole city was in a ferment. Marese Baskette's name was upon every lip, and as the murmur swelled into a roar it grew into something very like a cheer for the heir. That cheer penetrated the thick walls of many a fashionable villa and mansion, and was listened to with ill-concealed anxiety. Many a portly gentleman, dressed in the tailor's best, with broad shirt-front, gold studs, and heavy ring, rubicund with good living, as he stood upon his hearth-rug, with his back to the fire, in the midst of his family circle, surrounded with luxury, grew thoughtful and absent as that dull distant roar reached his ears.

Banker and speculator, city man, merchant, ironworker, coalowner, millowner, heard and trembled. For the first time they began to comprehend the meaning of the word Mob.

That word is well understood in America; twice it has been thoroughly spelt and learnt by heart in France. Will it ever be learnt in England?

Outside those thick walls and strong shutters in the dingy street or dimly-lit suburban road, where the bitter winter wind drove the cold rain and sleet along, there roamed abroad a mighty monster roused from his den. They heard and trembled. Before that monster the safeguards of civilisation are as cobwebs. He may be scotched with Horse Guards and Snider rifles, beaten back into his caverns; but of what avail is that after the mischief is done? In sober earnest, the middle cla.s.ses began to fear for the safety of Stirmingham. You see, the grey sewer-rats had undermined it from end to end!

It happened that the ironmasters and the coalowners, and some of the millowners, had held out long and successfully against a mighty strike: a strike that extended almost to a million of hearths and homes. They had won in the struggle, but the mind of the monster was bitter against them. They were Liberal--nearly all. Let them and their candidates keep a good look-out!

It happened also that the winter was hard and cold, work scarce, provisions dear; everything was wrong. It is at such times that, in exact opposition to all rules, the grey rat flourishes!

Finally, it happened that the party who had so strangely abdicated power just at the time when they seemed so firmly fixed, had committed a singularly, an exceptionally, unpopular act. They had robbed the poor man of his beer! They had curtailed his hours for drinking it, and to all appearance in an arbitrary way. Rumour said that they contemplated an alliance with the Cold Water Pump--that horror of horrors, the Temperance party. They had robbed the poor man of his beer! And the grey rat showed his teeth.

Marese Baskette issued his _p.r.o.nunciamento_, and at once opened the campaign. Everybody read it, from the club-house to the grimy bar of the lowest public-house. The club-house smiled, and said, "Clever;" the pot-house cheered, and cried, "He's our man." He _was_ their man. Even yet, at this distance of time, there lingered in the minds of the populace a distinct recollection of the great saturnalia which had been held in the days of old Sternhold Baskette, when their candidate was born.

History magnifies itself as time rolls on; the memory of that brief hour of unlimited riot had grown till it remained the one green spot in the life of the Stirmingham populace. This was the very man--this was the very infant whose advent, almost a generation ago, had been celebrated with rejoicings such as no king or queen in these degenerate days ever offered to the people.

When old Sternhold Baskette in the joy of his heart poured out wine in gallons, spirits in casks, and beer in rivers, he baptised his son Marese, the Child of the People. And it bore fruit at this great distance of time.

John Marese Baskette was, as we know, a clever man; he had a still more subtle man at his elbow. Between them they composed his address and his first oration. Be sure they did not forget the memory so dear to the people. Not one single thing was omitted which could tend to identify Marese Baskette with the populace. The combination of capital against them, the hard winter and price of provisions, all were skilfully turned to advantage; and, above all, the beer. When the publicans had read his address they one and all said, "He's our man." Licensed victuallers, beer-house keepers, "off the premises" men, gin-palace, eating-house, restaurant, hotel--all joined hands and marched in chorus, praising the man who promised to turn on the beer.

For he's a jolly good fellow, And so say all of us!

But Marese Baskette did not wholly rely upon the poorer cla.s.ses: he gained the goodwill, or at least the neutrality, of two-thirds of the middle cla.s.ses, by openly declaring that when he came into his property, as he grandly designated half the city, he should devote one-third of it to the relief of local taxation, to form a kind of common fund for sewers, gas, water, poor-rates, paving, etc. He went further--this he did not promulgate openly, but he caused it to be spread industriously abroad from house to house--and said that, when he inherited his rights, the house rents should be reduced from their present exorbitant figure.

Now it was notorious that the companies only waited to see whether they could tide over the year of expiration of their leases before they raised the rents. The arrow therefore went home. Baskette had hit the nail upon the head. The other party began to threaten pet.i.tions for bribery--contending that these promises were nothing short of it.

The _Daily Post_ published a leader on "Glaring Corruption and Wholesale Venality." Baskette and Theodore smiled. What would be the use of unseating him if, as they clearly saw, the opposite party was gone to utter destruction?

Baskette met with a triumphant reception at his first meeting. Whenever he appeared in the streets he was cheered to the echo.

The building societies and the Corporation were desperately alarmed.

Though so bitterly opposed to each other at ordinary times, a common fear gave them unity. They held a secret meeting--at least they thought it was secret, but such things are impossible in our time. The pen is everywhere--its sharp point penetrates through the thickest wall. They united, formed themselves into an a.s.sociation, voted funds--secret also--hired speakers and hired roughs.

It all leaked out. The _Stirmingham Daily News_--Baskette's paper--came out with a report and a leader, and held up the poor heir to the commiseration of the people. See what a combination against him!-- anything to keep him out of his rights. Hired speakers to talk him down--hired roughs to knock him on the head. Vested interests arrayed against him--poor heir! How deeply to be pitied! How greatly to be sympathised with! The paper used stronger language than this, and hinted at "gangs of foul conspirators," but that was not gentlemanly.

The exposure was worth a thousand votes to Baskette. But though exposed, the Corporation and the companies never ceased their efforts.

Between them they comprised almost all of the rich employers of labour.

They had one terrible engine--a fearful instrument of oppression and torture--invented in our modern days, in order that we may not get free and "become as G.o.ds." They put on the screw.

There is not a working man in England, from the hedger and ditcher, and the wretch who breaks the flints by the roadside, up to the best paid clerk or manager of a bank--not one single man who receives wages from another--who does not know the meaning of that word.

Let no one imagine that the "screw" is confined in its operation to the needy artisan or the labourer. It extends into all ranks of society, poisons every family circle, tortures every tenant and householder--all who in any way depend for comfort, luxury, or peace upon another person.

There is but one rank who are free--the few who, whether for wages or as tenants, never have to look to others.

Society is divided into two sections--the first, infinitely numerous, and the second, infinitely few--i.e., the Screwed-down, and the Screw-drivers. Now, the Corporation and the companies were the screw-drivers, and they twisted the horrible engine up tight.

Perhaps they gave it one turn too many; at all events the mob set up a yell. They formed processions and marched about the streets with bundles of screws, strung like bunches of keys, at the end of poles.

Squibs flew in all directions--too personal to be quoted here. Somebody wrote a parody on "John Brown's Knapsack"--representing old Sternhold Baskette as John Brown, and his soul as marching on. This, set to music, resounded in every corner.

It is sad, but it is true. Everything might still have gone off pretty quiet, had it not been for religion, or rather pseudo-religion. There were in the city vast numbers of workmen of the lowest cla.s.s from Ireland, and when the watchwords "Orangemen" and "Papists" are mentioned, every one will understand. Fights occurred hourly--a grand battle-royal was imminent. The grey rats did all they could to foster the animosity, and got up sham quarrels to set fire to the excited pa.s.sions of the mob. Their game was riot, in order that they might plunder. While the fools were fighting and the wise men trying to put them down, the grey rats meant to make off with all they could get.

Aymer, having by this time made for himself some little reputation for intelligence and quick observation, was sent out by the committee, of which Broughton was chairman, to watch the temper of the people; to penetrate into all the corners and out-of-the-way places; to hang on the skirts of the crowd and pick up their hopes and wishes, and to make reports from time to time as anything struck him. He was even to bring in the lampoons and squibs that were circulated, and, if possible, to spy out the secret doings of the other party--a commission which gave him liberty to roam. He wished to be gone, but this was better than the close office-work. He should see something of life; he should see man face to face. (In gilded salons and well-bred society it is only the profile one sees--the full face is averted.) He put on his roughest suit, took his note-book, and strolled out into the city.

The first thing he had to report was that an insinuation which had been spread abroad against Baskette was actually working in his favour. It had been thrown out that he was upon too familiar terms with a certain lady, singer and actress, the fame of whose wonderful beauty was sullied with suspicions of her frailty. With a certain section of the people, who prided themselves upon being "English to the backbone," this was resented as unfair. With a far larger portion it was at once believed, and, amid sly nods and winks, taken as another proof that Baskette was one of themselves.

Aymer wandered about the city; he saw its horrors, its crime. At such a period the sin, the wickedness and misery which commonly lurks in corners, came out and flaunted in the daylight. A great horror fell upon him--a horror of the drunkenness, the cursing, the immorality, the fierce brutishness. He shuddered. Not that he was himself pure, but he was sensitive and quick to understand, to see beneath the surface. He was of an age when the mind deals with broad generalities. If this was the state of one city only--then, poor England!

His imagination pictured a time when this monster might be uppermost.

One night he ascended the tower of a great brewery and looked down upon the city, all flaring with gas. Up from the depth came the shouting, the hum of thousands, the tramp of the mult.i.tudes. He looked afar. The horizon was bright with blazing fires--the sky red with a crimson and yellow glow. Not a star, was visible, a dense cloud of smoke hid everything. The iron furnaces shot forth their glowing flames, the engines puffed and snorted. He thought of Violet and trembled: when the monster was let loose, what then?

He descended and wandered away he knew not exactly whither, but he found himself towards midnight mixed in a crowd around the police station.

Jammed in amid, the throng he was shoved against the wall, but fortunately a lamp-post preserved him from the crush. However, he could not move. The gas-light fell upon the wall and lit up the proclamations of "V.R."--the advertis.e.m.e.nts of missing and lost, the descriptions of persons who were wanted, etc.

One sheet, half-defaced with the wind and rain and mud splashed against it, caught his eye--

"Escaped," so ran the fragment, "from... mingham Asylum, a lunatic of homicidal tendencies... Stabbed a warder... killed his wife by driving a nail into her head... Is at large. His description--Long grey hair, restless eye, peculiar ears, walks with a shambling gait, and has a melancholy expression of countenance. Plays fantastic airs upon a tin whistle, and is particularly fond of tinkering."

A new bill, "Two Hundred Pounds Reward," for the apprehension of a defaulting bank manager, blotted out the rest.

But Aymer had read enough. A sickening sensation seized him--this horrible being loose upon society, tinkering, playing upon a tin whistle, and driving nails into women's heads! In his ears sounded the din of tremendous shouts, "Baskette for ever!" and he saw a carriage go by from which the horses had been taken, and in which a man was standing upright, with his hat off, bowing. It was Marese Baskette returning from an evening meeting, and dragged in his carriage by the mob to his hotel.

Aymer caught a glance of his dark eye flashing with triumph, and it left an unpleasant impression upon him. But the shouts rose up to the thick cloud of smoke overhead--"Baskette for ever! Baskette for ever!"

"Oh! my love," wrote Aymer to Violet, "this is, indeed, an awful place.

I begin to live in dread of my fellow-creatures. Not for worlds--no, not for worlds, would I be the owner of this city (as so many are striving to be), lest I should be held, partly at least, responsible hereafter for its miseries, its crimes, its drunkenness, its nameless, indefinable horrors."