Ragged Trousered Philanthropists by Robert Tressell (read novel full TXT) 📖

helping one of

them to get in? There are plenty of voters who are doubtful whet to

do; as you and I know there is every excuse for them being unable to

make up their minds which of these two candidates is the worse, a word

from your party would decide them. Since you have no candidate of

your own you will be doing no harm to Socialism and you will be doing

yourself a bit of good. If you like to come along with me now, I’ll

introduce you to Sweater’s agent - no one need know anything about

it.’

 

He slipped his arm through Barrington’s, but the latter released

himself.

 

`Please yourself,’ said the other with an affectation of indifference.

`You know your own business best. You may choose to be a Jesus Christ

if you like, but for my part I’m finished. For the future I intend to

look after myself. As for these people - they vote for what they

want; they get - what they vote for; and by God, they deserve nothing

better! They are being beaten with whips of their own choosing and if

I had my way they should be chastised with scorpions! For them, the

present system means joyless drudgery, semi-starvation, rags and

premature death. They vote for it all and uphold it. Well, let them

have what they vote for - let them drudge - let them starve!’

 

The man with the scarred face ceased speaking, and for some moments

Barrington did not reply.

 

`I suppose there is some excuse for your feeling as you do,’ he said

slowly at last, `but it seems to me that you do not make enough

allowance for the circumstances. From their infancy most of them have

been taught by priests and parents to regard themselves and their own

class with contempt - a sort of lower animals - and to regard those

who possess wealth with veneration, as superior beings. The idea that

they are really human creatures, naturally absolutely the same as

their so-called betters, naturally equal in every way, naturally

different from them only in those ways in which their so-called

superiors differ from each other, and inferior to them only because

they have been deprived of education, culture and opportunity - you

know as well as I do that they have all been taught to regard that

idea as preposterous.

 

`The self-styled “Christian” priests who say - with their tongues in

their cheeks - that God is our Father and that all men are brethren,

have succeeded in convincing the majority of the “brethren” that it is

their duty to be content in their degradation, and to order themselves

lowly and reverently towards their masters. Your resentment should be

directed against the deceivers, not against the dupes.’

 

The other man laughed bitterly.

 

`Well, go and try to undeceive them,’ he said, as he returned to the

platform in response to a call from his associates. `Go and try to

teach them that the Supreme Being made the earth and all its fullness

for the use and benefit of all His children. Go and try to explain to

them that they are poor in body and mind and social condition, not

because of any natural inferiority, but because they have been robbed

of their inheritance. Go and try to show them how to secure that

inheritance for themselves and their children - and see how grateful

they’ll be to you.’

 

For the next hour Barrington walked about the crowded streets in a

dispirited fashion. His conversation with the renegade seemed to have

taken all the heart out of him. He still had a number of the

leaflets, but the task of distributing them had suddenly grown

distasteful and after a while he discontinued it. All his enthusiasm

was gone. Like one awakened from a dream he saw the people who

surrounded him in a different light. For the first time he properly

appreciated the offensiveness of most of those to whom he offered the

handbills; some, without even troubling to ascertain what they were

about, rudely refused to accept them; some took them and after

glancing at the printing, crushed them in their hands and

ostentatiously threw them away. Others, who recognized him as a

Socialist, angrily or contemptuously declined them, often with curses

or injurious words.

 

His attention was presently attracted to a crowd of about thirty or

forty people, congregated near a gas lamp at the roadside. The sound

of many angry voices rose from the centre of this group, and as he

stood on the outskirts of the crowd, Barrington, being tall, was able

to look into the centre, where he saw Owen. The light of the street

lamp fell full upon the latter’s pale face, as he stood silent in the

midst of a ring of infuriated men, who were all howling at him at

once, and whose malignant faces bore expressions of savage hatred, as

they shouted out the foolish accusations and slanders they had read in

the Liberal and Tory papers.

 

Socialists wished to do away with religion and morality! to establish

free love and atheism! All the money that the working classes had

saved up in the Post Office and the Friendly Societies, was to be

Robbed from them and divided up amongst a lot of drunken loafers who

were too lazy to work. The King and all the Royal Family were to be

Done Away with! and so on.

 

Owen made no attempt to reply. and the manner of the crowd became

every moment more threatening. It was evident that several of them

found it difficult to refrain from attacking him. It was a splendid

opportunity of doing a little fighting without running any risks.

This fellow was all by himself, and did not appear to be much of a man

even at that. Those in the middle were encouraged by shouts from

others in the crowd, who urged them to `Go for him’ and at last -

almost at the instant of Barrington’s arrival - one of the heroes,

unable to contain himself any longer, lifted a heavy stick and struck

Owen savagely across the face. The sight of the blood maddened the

others, and in an instant everyone who could get within striking

distance joined furiously in the onslaught, reaching eagerly over each

other’s shoulders, showering blows upon him with sticks and fists, and

before Barrington could reach his side, they had Owen down on the

ground, and had begun to use their boots upon him.

 

Barrington felt like a wild beast himself, as he fiercely fought his

way through the crowd, spuming them to right and left with fists and

elbows. He reached the centre in time to seize the uplifted arm of

the man who had led the attack and wrenching the stick from his hand,

he felled him to the ground with a single blow. The remainder shrank

back, and meantime the crowd was augmented by others who came running

up.

 

Some of these newcomers were Liberals and some Tories, and as these

did not know what the row was about they attacked each other. The

Liberals went for those who wore Tory colours and vice versa, and in a

few seconds there was a general free fight, though most of the

original crowd ran away, and in the confusion that ended, Barrington

and Owen got out of the crowd without further molestation.

 

Monday was the last day of the election - polling day - and in

consequence of the number of motor cars that were flying about, the

streets were hardly safe for ordinary traffic. The wealthy persons

who owned these carriages…

 

The result of the poll was to be shown on an illuminated sign at the

Town Hall, at eleven o’clock that night, and long before that hour a

vast crowd gathered in the adjacent streets. About ten o’clock it

began to rain, but the crowd stood its ground and increased in numbers

as the time went by. At a quarter to eleven the rain increased to a

terrible downpour, but the people remained waiting to know which hero

had conquered. Eleven o’clock came and an intense silence fell upon

the crowd, whose eyes were fixed eagerly upon the window where the

sign was to be exhibited. To judge by the extraordinary interest

displayed by these people, one might have thought that they expected

to reap some great benefit or to sustain some great loss from the

result, but of course that was not the case, for most of them knew

perfectly well that the result of this election would make no more

real difference to them than all the other elections that had gone

before.

 

They wondered what the figures would be. There were ten thousand

voters on the register. At a quarter past eleven the sign was

illuminated, but the figures were not yet shown. Next, the names of

the two candidates were slid into sight, the figures were still

missing, but D’Encloseland’s name was on top, and a hoarse roar of

triumph came from the throats of his admirers. Then the two slides

with the names were withdrawn, and the sign was again left blank.

After a time the people began to murmur at all this delay and messing

about, and presently some of them began to groan and hoot.

 

After a few minutes the names were again slid into view, this time

with Sweater’s name on top, and the figures appeared immediately

afterwards:

 

Sweater … … … … … … . . 4,221

D’Encloseland … … … … … . . 4,200

 

It was several seconds before the Liberals could believe their eyes;

it was too good to be true. It is impossible to say what was the

reason of the wild outburst of delighted enthusiasm that followed, but

whatever the reason, whatever the benefit was that they expected to

reap - there was the fact. They were all cheering and dancing and

shaking hands with each other, and some of them were so overcome with

inexplicable joy that they were scarcely able to speak. It was

altogether extraordinary and unaccountable.

 

A few minutes after the declaration, Sweater appeared at the window

and made a sort of a speech, but only fragments of it were audible to

the cheering crowd who at intervals caught such phrases as `Slashing

Blow’, `Sweep the Country’, `Grand Old Liberal Flag’, and so on. Next

D’Encloseland appeared and he was seen to shake hands with Mr Sweater,

whom he referred to as `My friend’.

 

When the two `friends’ disappeared from the window, the part of the

Liberal crowd that was not engaged in hand-to-hand fights with their

enemies - the Tories - made a rush to the front entrance of the Town

Hall, where Sweater’s carriage was waiting, and as soon as he had

placed his plump rotundity inside, they took the horses out and amid

frantic cheers harnessed themselves to it instead and dragged it

through the mud and the pouring rain all the way to `The Cave’ - most

of them were accustomed to acting as beasts of burden - where he again

addressed a few words to them from the porch.

 

Afterwards as they walked home saturated with rain and covered from

head to foot with mud, they said it was a great victory for the cause

of progress!

 

Truly the wolves have an easy prey.