University of Virginia Library

24. CHAPTER XXIV.
THE CHARTER ELECTION.

The April sun streamed upon a city in the very crisis
of a fever, flushed and curtained all over with flags like
a mighty booth or tent of war. The color had apparently
all passed out of the red brick houses—now pale with
placards—into the faces of the inhabitants. The election,
rumbling and foretelling itself for months, had come; and
while parts of the town—whole streets and neighborhoods—
had the appearance of being abandoned and desolate,
others boiled and overflowed with life like so many whirlpools.
Each poll or head-quarter of the wards was the
centre and heart of streams that choked the streets and
blocked up all passage through or beyond. Banners run
high up in the air, coiled and twisted and turned about as
often as the politicians over whose heads they floated;
others, stretched across the thoroughfares, brushed the
hats of the crowds, and as they wavered to and fro,

helped to fan the fire into a flame. The excitement was
by no means diminished when the voters—many of whom
had been up all night long preparing for the contest—
rubbed their eyes, and read upon the fences affidavits
(which had just come out) to the effect that Gallipot, the
candidate of the Bottomites—as they were known at the
canvass—had been a smuggler of British paints through
the custom-house for years; yes, British paints. Mr. Gallipot's
enemies laughed horribly when they read it; but
when they had leisure to turn round and read on an opposite
wall (it had been drafted, printed, sworn to, and
posted up almost while they were busy spelling out the
other,) that Mr. Blinker, the President of the Phœnix
Company, and their own candidate—he had been put up
at the last moment by the opposition—had murdered a
traveler fourteen years before, at Rahway, New-Jersey,
whose bones he had kept ever since in a writing desk with
a false bottom, in his own house—they grinned again,
but this time they writhed and twisted as they grinned.

In the mean time all parties were at work at their polling
places. In all the lower region of the city the battle
went smoothly: the voters dropped in one by one, as to a
party, with their notes of invitation in their hands, and
quietly deposited their ballots, and passed away. Further
up, and nearer the heart of the city, where life may
be supposed to be more rampant and furious, there were
constant outbreaks—little playful jets—all day long.

As these bubbled up from time to time and burst, fragments
of timber, branches of oak and hickory, were thrown out
with such violence and spirit, as to send voters of a peaceful
turn of mind trotting up the sloping streets which lead
from this infested region; and when such voters chanced
to be of a respectable bulk and tonnage, they were watched
with no little curiosity and interest by lookers-on who
stood at the top, and saw with what pain and anxiety
and redness of face, they toiled up.

In another ward the poll had been constructed and arranged
a good deal on the principle of a puzzle, which the
voters frequenting there were required, as an agreeable day's
pastime, to solve. First, you had to go through a long blind
hall, from the street; then out into a yard; then up a
flight of stairs, through a long, dark room; and then up a

ladder, when, in an apartment so small that its inmates
must have been got in by legerdemain, you had the pleasure
of meeting three gentlemen—two of them, who approved
of the juggle which had been set by their own
party, smiling cheerfully—behind their green box, ready
to wait upon you. Here was a delightful recreation for
aged gentlemen of inactive habits, and delicate young
gentlemen in tight-strapped pants; an admirable device,
and it worked well, for the plotters polled two votes to
one—as they had a great run of sailors, from a government
vessel in the harbour, in the morning, all on their
side, and quite as spirited an accession of lamplighters
in the afternoon.

But it was at the East-River poll, where Puffer Hopkins
labored, that the struggle was steadiest and fiercest; it
was the tie ward, where parties had in the previous election
cast an equal vote, and the whole city now hung
anxiously upon its returns. The poll was held in an old
yellow building, its gable upon the street, and its front
facing the river; the voting room was an obscure dark
corner, reached by a narrow entry, full of crooks and turns,
through an old-fashioned door-way. Around this a great
number of voters had lodged the night through, to be in
readiness to put in the earliest vote the first day; among
them were the lightning-maker, whose uneasy slumbers
against the wall had betrayed themselves by incessant
cries of “bring the buckets!” and the cobbler, who had
not slept a wink, inasmuch as he had been engaged with
a one-eyed stone-cutter, in an elaborate argument to show
that the only debts a man was bound to pay, were his
grocer's, (a line of business his wife's brother was in,) and
his shoemaker's. It was a pleasure to Puffer Hopkins to
learn that the cobbler,—a convert of his own,—had deposited
the first vote, although with such emphasis as to
stave in the cover of the ballot-box, and cause himself to
be taken into keeping by a couple of officers, who led him,
roaring and remonstrating, to a neighboring watch-house.
Before the morning was half spent, the election was in
full progress; there were men running up and down the
streets bringing in voters; others, housed in small wooden
booths or cabins, distributing ballots; some declaiming,
in high, gusty voices; some, farther apart from the throng,

calculating the chances of the candidates; and others,
even, who had withdrawn into bye-streets in the neighborhood
of the poll, plotting the distribution of the offices
that would fall to the share of the victorious party. Towards
the evening of the first day, to which moment, as
commanding the largest throng of spectators, he had reserved
himself, Mr. Blinker came upon the ground, attended
by two or three hangers-on and runners, and looking very
grand and decisive. There was an extraordinary severity
in his look; although his coat, a faded chocolate, was something
the worse for wear, and a thought or two below the
usual style of the president. This was odd; but presently
it began to be whispered about, as all eyes were fixed
upon it, that this identical chocolate garment was the cast
coat of a distinguished senator of the United States, who had
lately made a triumphant tour through the city. It was
soon discovered, too, that the neck-stock which Mr.
Blinker now wore was of the very same sable and satin
texture, as that worn by his eminent model on that occasion.
Mr. Blinker had made influence with the great man;
and this was the result. As he was watched, moving
down the walk majestically, making gracious nods and
recognitions on either hand, it occurred to the lookers-on,
that Mr. B. emulated not a little the gait and manner, and
assumed, as nearly as was attainable, the voice of the
illustrious senator. The spectacle was imposing but not
conclusive; two loafers, to be sure, bailed the air with
their hats, with such vehemence as to drive the bottoms
out; but the effect of this was entirely destroyed by a
couple of ragged young rascals, who had been put forward,
clinging to his chocolate skirts, and whining out the paternal
appellation, till they were dragged off by main force, amid
the shouts of the mob—“That's a cruel wretch!” “What
a unfeelin' father!” and so forth.

While Mr. Blinker spent his time in this way, strutting
about the poll, it was his native ward, and he had a pride
in sticking to it—his antagonist, Mr. Gallipot, honest
Peleg Gallipot, was all over town, in his paint-dress,
making interest, shaking hands, chewing, smoking, drinking
as though he had been fifty men instead of one. The
Gallipot hacks and stages rushed about, with great linen
flags streaming to the wind, as though the horses had

votes as well as the half-drunken gentlemen inside,
and were anxious to get them in. Puffer Hopkins,
for one, was everywhere; haranguing; folding tickets;
diving into committee rooms; arguing on the curb:
was at every man's ear; had every man by the hand.
He seemed to have multiplied himself: every third carriage-door
that opened, lo! out popped Puffer, leading by the
hand, a couple of misty sailors; a superannuated old
man; a Quaker that hadn't voted for nineteen years, or some
other wonder and miracle.

The first day closed; and at night the Gallipots and
Blinkerites, repaired to their respective quarters for an
irregular canvass of the result. The Gallipot party met
in the upper chamber of the poll, of which, as the party at
present in power, they had possession; and their meeting
was sufficiently promiscuous and piebald. Along benches
fronting the raised platform, were seated, cheek by jowl,
gentlemen in fine beaver hats, and tatterdemalions, with no
covering but their own matted and discordant locks; some in
broadcloth coats of the latest cut, and some in jackets that,
judging by their texture and complexion, seemed to have
been fashioned out of sweeps' blankets. The room was
full, so full that it overflowed, a loafer or two, upon the
stairs; and two or three men who occupied the platform,
and who had watched the progress of the voting, down
stairs, through the day, called over by turn, a list of voters
which they held in their hands. As they called, some one
or other in the crowd, would answer for each name, “good,”
“bad,” “doubtful,” as the case might be; the answer
being given by such as supposed themselves familiar with
the way of thinking and political turn of the person called.
This proceeding was kept up till the roll was finished;
which was no sooner done, than an ambitious young gentleman,
who had stood at the doorway watching its close,
rushed off as special express and post-boy, to carry the
result to Fogfire Hall, where it was waited for with much
anxiety. Two or three speeches of a highly inflammatory
character were delivered—the meeting broke up—and the
first day's work was over.

The sun, which had been in a fine mood all the first
day, shining like a great eye into all corners of the city,
warming voters into life like so many bull-frogs, rolled up

the sky, on the morning of the second, apparently as good-humored
as ever. The Blinkerites were delighted; they
were the fair-weather party, and their well dressed voters
poured in in a steady stream for a couple of hours or
better; but when, towards noon, a large, ill-looking cloud
came looming along from the north-west, they began to
grow gloomy, and sundry of the Bottom leaders walked
round the corner and shook hands on the prospect of a
good, pelting shower.

It was a false alarm; the cloud, a mere gust of wind,
passed off; the Blinkerites brightened up wonderfully.
The tide was running strong and deep in their favor;
two to one, at least, entering the boxes on their side.
Troops of nice-looking gentlemen were hurrying in; gentlemen
of doubtful politics were going over every minute.
Blinker was standing against a great empty hogshead, on
the corner, dividing the offices to his friends, who were
gathered round him in large numbers, in advance. Ever
since the cloud had blown over, (which, to be sure, they
could n't help,) the Bottomites had been horribly cast down:
what was to be done? Just then there was a shuffling of
feet in the neighborhood of the poll; a tumult in the entry;
the crowd outside looked in—there were officers' staves
crossing and clashing in the hall; great brawny arms
raised and brought down with wonderful vigor—bodies
pushed about—and presently the whole melee came tumbling
into the street. The Gallipot leaders rubbed their
hands and chuckled; they knew what it meant; a detachment
of the Bottom Club had been concealed under the
stairway of the hall, all the morning, lying in wait for an
opportunity (in the meantime amusing their leisure by tripping
up as many inconsiderate Blinker voters as they could
as they passed in) for a decisive demonstration. They,
like their friends without, had formed good hopes of the
shower, but when the air cleared up so brightly and provokingly,
they could restrain themselves no longer. A
cat-call had been given, certain members of the fraternity
had forced their way in at the back-door of the polling-room,
others from the neighboring bar, and, first crowning
the officers in attendance, they had distributed themselves
about the hall and engendered the tumult—one of their
little plans for re-organizing and reforming society—which

gave such unmixed satisfaction to their out-of-door friends.
This blow was a decisive one; the timid and peace-affecting
Blinkerites kept aloof; and although the Blinkerite
leaders came upon the ground in the afternoon, in tarpaulin
hats and shag roundabouts, it was impossible to recover
themselves. When the poll was shut, it was admitted on
all hands, that they had run behind, a hundred at least.
There was another meeting for a canvass, which differed
from the other in no respect, save that in its very midst, a
great political calculator rushing in breathless from his own
house, where he had been casting up the question, averred
that they were to have, unless their friends made superhuman
exertions to-morrow, (notwithstanding present flattering
prospects) a majority of only twenty-five, with a floating
prospect of three more if the weather proved foul.
He staked his head on this result. Another express was
run to Fogfire Hall; sundry speeches of a still more excitable
quality delivered: and the meeting dispersed
feverish and resolute.

The third day brought unexpected relays from all
quarters. The halt, the blind, the feeble, the asthmatic—
came wheezing, and hobbling, and tottering, and groping
their way to the poll. Some poor scarecrows that appeared
to have been mouldering away for years, in their
piece-meal garments, in out of the way holes and corners,
were led in by the hand, and stood around as though they
had been just dug out. Others, reeking and bloated, with
lack-lustre eyes, appeared before the green boxes, and
voted in the same manner as they would have called for a
two-penny pint of spirits.

The cauldron had been stirred to its bottom, and its
very dregs were floating up. Those that now voted were
stragglers, coming in one by one; but presently, a sharp-eyed
looker-on, might have discovered that a more steady
stream was setting in, of a somewhat similar class. This
was Mr. Finch's second detachment, (his first had finished
their work in the various wards, stealthily, the two previous
days;) his Island volunteers, who entered the polls
at intervals, deposited their votes and quietly withdrew
beyond reach of the officer's eyes as soon as possible;—
going in, that was Mr. Finch's device, most frequently on
the arm of some gentleman of known character, who lent

his responsibility for the purpose, and sharing his good
character at the ballot box. One of them—a notorious
pickpocket—but who had chalked his face deeply enough
to get for himself the sympathy of being a gentleman in ill
health, had even tottered in leaning on the shoulder of a
little parson, of an earnest partizan disposition.

Sometimes, as it happened more than once, when the
volunteer firemen of Blinker politics gathered in any
considerable number about the poll, waiting to put in
their vote, a violent fire-alarm would happen to be
rung out from a neighboring market, which soon sent
them scampering away: a fire in New-York taking precedence
of a funeral, an election, and every thing else
but an invitation to a hanging inside of the prison-yard.
For these alarms, the Bottomites were indebted to the bell-ringer
of their Club, who lingered about the market, pulling
the bell at opportune moments, of which he was advised
by a trusty messenger sent down from the poll.
The excitement deepend as the day advanced: quidnuncs
and inquirers came hurrying in from every direction to
learn how the contest was going.

As the day approached its close the creed of the two
parties broadened; their promises and professions became
more frequent and more liberal; their affection for the poor
—the most readily reached by such devices—more devoted
and fraternal. One party threw out the suggestion that a
poor man should have two votes, in consideration of the
hardships and disadvantages of his lot. This the drummers
and declaimers of the other party answered by suggesting
that if gentlemen—gentlemen of means and ability—had
the disposition they professed to serve the poor, why
didn't they give 'em rooms in their three-story houses, with
clean basins and towels, and plenty to eat? Advancing
in this way in their proclamations and professions they at
last became so comprehensive in their philanthropy, that
certain poverty-stricken and simple-minded gentlemen
who stood by listening with greedy ear, flattered themselves,
that they and their families were as good as provided
for, for the ensuing year, and went in and voted for one
ticket or the other, according as they preferred the fare,
lodgings and accommodations held out by either party.

The concourse about the poll had swelled steadily for

hours: the street was full; the windows of the neighborhood
were packed close with heads and faces; every look-out
place of the Head-Quarters itself to the very roof was
occupied by men, women and children looking eagerly down,
and watching the progress of the contest. There was a great
lumber-pile hard by, and this, too, the crowd had climbed
and now swarmed about its top. As the sun went down,
the crowd swayed to and fro—and there were certain persons
in it who seemed to rock it back and forth as they would
a cradle—when suddenly surging, with a terrible impulse
against the wall, it burst its way into the house, and
there was a cry that the ballot boxes were in danger. In
a minute the officers came hurrying, pale-faced, into the
street, where they were tossed about in the crowd—the
black-and-white tops of their staves floating about like so
many fishing-doppers—the mob swarmed in at the windows,
over the back-fence, through the hall (last of all),
and the polling-room was in a trice completely overrun.

At this moment Mr. Halsey Fishblatt, who had prevailed
upon two or three sturdy men to lift him on their
shoulders, stood up, as well as he could, with such a support—and
removing his hat, from which a cloudy shower of
newspapers fell, presented his face at the broken fanlight of
the entry-door. His hands were lifted up in supplication, and
his look was an imploring one. It was some time before
he could get a hearing.

“Gentlemen, I do beseech you, I entreat and implore
you, as you value your characters as citizens and as men,
to restrain yourselves.” From the imperfect character of
the support on which he depended, Mr. Fishblatt's observations
were extremely irregular in their delivery; one
being given, as was this, with his face at the window;
and the next being entirely lost in the wood-work behind
which his head descended. “I would ask any gentleman
here,” remarked Mr. Fishblatt, when he came up again,
“if he keeps a snuff-box? Did he value his privileges?
There were a couple of thousand persons in that crowd,
as far as he could judge, three children to each—there was
a spectacle, was it not—the rights and immunities of six
thousand of the rising generation hazarded by the present
outrageous outbreak.” He went down again for a few
minutes. “The ballot-box, gentlemen,” continued Mr.

Fishblatt, on his re-appearance, “is the ark of our safety:
it 's the foundation of our institutions—board, lodging, and
two suits a year to all of us. What would we be without
the sacred ballot-box? Where would stand your City
Hall? Where the old Sugar House in Liberty-street?
Where the Fourth of July? Where the immortal names of
Perry and Hamilton? Where”—

He went down again; this time for good, for his supporters,
learning that the inspectors had got off with their
boxes through a bye-gate into the next yard, and so from
one yard to another, to a place of safety, had withdrawn,
and Mr. Fishblatt was permitted to fall like a half-risen
balloon, among the crowd. The crowd—who had given
but little heed to Mr. Fishblatt's appeal, finding there was
no further sport going forward, gradually broke up and
dispersed. The election was at an end; the great contest
determined one way or the other.