University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.

The day of the election was one of great excitement.
Long before the polls were opened,
groups might be seen at the corners, and in other
places discussing the prospects of the candidates;
and through the whole day hacks were traversing
the city, in all directions, bringing up the maimed,
the halt, and the blind, to the polls. Horsemen
dashed from ward to ward, from county to town,
and from town to county, in restless desire, to ascertain
the state of the election; or bound, perhaps,
on some tricky errand of manœuvring or betting.
All sorts of reports, and rumours of reports, were
current, of the changes in such a township, of the
effect produced in such a ward, by such a speech,
of the great odds offered in a bet that was refused,
of the injury such a handbill had done such a candidate
in a certain quarter, &c. &c. Just after the
polls were opened, handbills were circulated in
quantities, giving a purient account of an unfortunate
young creature, named Jane Durham, who
had been seduced, and abducted no one knew
whither, by Bradshaw. It was alleged, that he
had forced her into a hack the previous evening,
and that, since, she had not been heard of, &c. &c.
An account somewhat inconsistent with previous
reports, as related by Mr. Carlton to his daughter.

With indefatigable perseverance, Bradshaw visited
the polls throughout the town, and in the
county, as far as time and distance would permit.
The place of voting in one of the wards was at the
hotel, immediately opposite Mrs. Holliday's; and
Mary Carlton sat at the window, a most unhappy
observer of the crowd. The handbill charging
her lover with the seduction of Jane Durham, had
been thrown in the door, and Sue had brought it
to her. With heavy heart, she now sat looking
into the bustling street—the scene fell with a deep
depression on her feelings—“He will be elected,”
she thought, “and think no more of me, I ought
to thank heaven that he quarrelled with my father,
or I never should have discovered his character,
until too late. With what seeming tenderness
he helped that poor deceived creature into
the carriage last night!” While indulging such
sad thoughts, which she in vain attempted to banish
from her mind, she at once was startled from
her vacant look at the crowd, on beholding Bradshaw
ride up rapidly to the polls. He was on
horseback; and the moment his friends recognised,
they gathered around him. He laughed and talked
gaily with them, while they eagerly shook hands
with him. She observed him cast his eye towards
the house. He does not think of me, she
thought. In a minute he descended from his horse,
and, giving the reins to a boy standing by, crossed
the street. “Will he dare,” said Mary to herself,
with an indignant countenance, “will he dare to
come here?” She had scarcely said it, when
Bradshaw, who stopped not to ring the bell, entered
the room. He sprang towards her, but she
started back, with a “beautiful disdain” upon her
lip, and with averted head, waved him away with
her hand.

“Why, Mary, are you angry, love? In what
have I offended? You are like Sheridan's description
of justice, `lovely, though in your frown—”'

“Justice, sir—begone! carry your false words
and your false—Mr. Bradshaw, this is intrusion,
sir. Will you not go? If you will not leave the
room, I must.”

“Mary, explain to me the meaning of all this.
I understand you not!”

“I understand you, sir, thoroughly. I'm a witness,
though not a willing witness, of your—words
are idle. Allow me the privilege of choosing my
own company, Mr. Bradshaw—or, if you are determined
to remain, I bid you good morning, sir.”

“Mary, this is some strange mistake. Explain
—why not explain? In what have I offended you?
to what do you allude? Has Talbot again—”

“No, sir; no Talbot again. Your friends are
calling you, sir—if you are determined to entertain
them in my aunt's house, you must excuse my presence.”
She walked towards the folding-doors.

Bradshaw heard his name called repeatedly, in
the street. Advancing to Mary, he asked, “Shall
I have no explanation, Mary? I conjure you, by
every thing you hold sacred, to tell me what this
means? If there is—let me know what there is—”

“I am myself a witness, sir. I was in the stage,
and saw you bear off that—that woman.”

At this moment, one of Bradshaw's friends, who
was a little elated, and who had seen him enter

Mrs. Holliday's, followed after, regardless of time
and place, in his anxiety to inform him of the handbill
against him. As Bradshaw turned to him, Mary
Carlton left the room. Bradshaw led his political
friend out, for he required some assistance, and,
after listening to his maudlin talk for some time,
he, with great difficulty, got rid of him.

“I see it,” said he to himself, as he mounted his
horse; “I understand it now. Carlton has told
Mary of this Jane Durham case; and she saw me
with her last night. Talbot is at the bottom of all
this—his time's come. What a spirit spoke in
Mary's eye! What dignity—but—I—I—”

Here one of Bradshaw's friends rode up to him,
and away they went together.

“Bradshaw, you must stir your stumps,” said his
friend, as they rode rapidly off: “the old fellow's
running like the deuce. These infernal handbills
were out, in the upper part of the county, yesterday,
and the report is that they are doing you
a great injury among the farmers.”

Let us return to Mary.

“Where did these books come from, Sue?”
asked Mary Carlton, of the servant girl, as the
latter entered her room, with a number of souvenirs
and annuals in her hand.

“Mr. Longshore, ma'am, who cleans Mr. Bradshaw's
office, brought them, miss. He says Mr.
Bradshaw sent 'em.”

“Ay, he cleans his office! is that it? and sends
me home my books. Put them on the foot of the
bed, by me, Sue;—and, Sue, I'm not at home if
any body should call.—Emily Bradshaw—Did
you see Pete in the market this morning?”

“O! yes, Miss Mary, and I forgot it till this
minute. Miss Emily got home late last night.”

“If she should come in, Sue, of course, I'm
home; but come and tell me when she comes,
first, before I see her. Do I look as if I were not
well, Sue?”

“You looks a little pale, Miss Mary; and your
voice sounds a little as if you —”

“No matter—Oh! no matter!—As if you—
what?”

“As if you were troubled, Miss Mary.”

“There, put the books there.—Don't shut the
door.”

Mary Carlton opened one of the books, and in
a blank leaf cast her eyes on some hastily written
lines, in Bradshaw's handwriting. With a quick
glance she read—

“That `arid season' has, indeed, come,” said
Mary; “that `dewy rain' can fall no more! no

more!”—and she buried her head in her pillow,
and burst into a flood of tears.

Late in the afternoon, we next find Bradshaw.
With now a bent and angry brow, and now a
gentle smile, he was talking with his sister, at
the door of the Purchase; Pete was standing at
the gate, holding his horse: the animal was all in
a foam.

“Tell her all, my dear sister—as you love me,
tell her all!” were the words he was uttering as
we thus find him.

“My dear brother, I will—I will, if I understand
you; but you speak very incoherently.”

“Here, give her this letter—'tis Talbot's own
confession. She'll understand—my friends wait
for me—they'll wonder, in town, where I am—it
may hurt my election. 'Tis this way, Emily,
'tis this way,—listen, dearest sister, to me,—as
Kentuck has told you, Talbot, in a most dastardly
manner, attempted my life in an oyster cellar
the day Johnson—you were at the trial—was
tried for murder. We only suspected it at the
time. Since—the other day—two gentlemen who
were taking oysters in an adjoining room, came to
me, knowing the manner Talbot was acting in this
election, came to me, and gave me a certificate
that they saw him cock the pistol and fire at me
while my back was turned, and I was opening the
door to let Kentuck in; Kentuck persuaded me not
to publish the certificate, to wait till after the election.
This morning I saw Mary—I have told you
of what passed between us. Talbot, I knew, was
at the bottom of the report—the handbill. Mary
was in the stage—she saw me hand Jane Durham

into a hack—tell her that Glassman is in the hospital
insane, after a fit of intemperance: I heard of
it late in the afternoon. I took Jane Durham to
see him—she is the only one who can do any thing
with him. That's all—tell her so, on my honour.
I have ridden away out in the country,—Talbot
got up this handbill—he skulked away. A fellow
who lives just above Jane Durham's, a friend of
Carlton's, told him of this `seduction and abduction.'
I showed him—Talbot—the certificates, and
threatened to publish them. I told him so before his
father and family; and he made the confession, to
prevent the publication. Tell Mary all, do, dearest
sister, all—all. Ride right in, sister—I must
be off—get her to come out to the Purchase with
you; she will, I know, if you persuade her. I will
be out by twelve o'clock to-night—the expresses
will be all in then, and we shall know who is elected”—Bradshaw
mounted his horse. “Oh, sis!—I
saw Sue, as I was starting from town to go in
search of Talbot; from what I gathered from her,
Mary thought I returned those books, in consequence
of what took place this morning: at least,
so I suspect. Say to Mary, that Cavendish and I
had taken another office; and I ordered the man,
when he moved the books, to take Mary's to her.
God bless you—we shall know by twelve o'clock
who's elected—bring Mary out with you—show
her the letter—she'll come.”

“Clinton! Clinton!” called out Emily, “don't
harm Talbot. Oh, do not expose him!”

“Not I, my fair sis. Show that letter to Mary
—not I. But he may thank Kentuck for it; I
would have done it—blazoned his infamy to the

world. I told him to-day what my uncle Toby said
to the fly—but not in his benevolent spirit; and I
made a kind of exception, I told him there was
room enough in the wide world for both of us, but
not in our small city; so he'll take up his line of
march, and he and Scrags may hang out their banners
as leaders in whatever city of refuge scoundrels
most do congregate; but not when there's
any courage to be displayed. Pete, I owe you a
fip; I can't stop to put my hand in my pocket—
come right in, sis”—and away he dashed.

On reaching the city, Bradshaw rode immediately
to Jackson's livery stable, changed his horse, and
then proceeded to visit the different wards. People
were rushing to the polls, as the hour of closing
them drew near, and a great excitement prevailed.
Both sides were sanguine, and betting ran very
high; but without any odds given on either side:
or, if on either, by the friends of Carlton. Night
closed in, and the people gathered in crowds around
the printing offices to hear the returns, as they
were brought in by express. The friends of Carlton
congregated round the Gazette office, and those
of Bradshaw round the Mechanics' Advocate, (Jekyl's.)
Though the offices were several squares
apart, one party could distinctly hear the shouts
and hurras of the other, as the returns were read.
When there was a shout at the Gazette office, a
dead silence reigned over the multitude by Jekyl's,
and whenever they shouted, no echo came from
the other quarter—while individuals might be seen
hastening from one office to the other, anxious to
know what were the reports among their opponents,
and to discover from their tone and conversation,

their hopes and fears. The night went on leaden
wings. At last an express from the county came
in, all the townships were heard from, except the
Purchase.

“It's very strange,” said Jekyl, “we don't hear
from Purchase township.”

“It has been bought up,” exclaimed some punster.

“A great many votes were taken there. Carlton,
you say, is a-head one hundred and thirty,”
said Bradshaw. “Close scratching, by Jove! According
to their calculation, what majority did they
give me in that township?”

“Not more than fifty,” said one.

“You're wrong,” said Jekyl,—“one hundred.”

“How many votes have been counted at the
Purchase?” asked Bradshaw.

“I don't know—but that's the largest township.”

“How many votes were taken?”

“Don't know—but they say a larger number
than ever was taken before.”

“That counts in my favour,” said Bradshaw—
“at least, I think so. Hear how the Carlton men
are shouting! It comes on the night breeze, a complete
whoop of exultation. You're not through the
woods yet, gentlemen. I've been thoroughly
through that township, and—”

“I'm afeared we're a case, Mr. Bradshaw!” interrupted
one.

“Hear how the fools shout!” said Geirson, the
man in whose behalf Bradshaw made his first
speech.

“Yes!—hear to 'em!” said another.

“Wait awhile, boys. I think I know the Purchase.
If there were as many votes polled there

as is generally believed, I'll run him hard. I may
turn a sharp corner on him, yet.”

“We hope so, squire!—we hope so!” exclaimed
they, simultaneously.

At this moment, a great bustle was heard without,
while the shouts from the Carlton quarter
ceased.

“The last express is in!” called out the crowd.
“The news! the news!”

“Bradshaw's elected!” called out Jekyl. “He
leads, in Purchase township, three hundred votes!”

“By Jove!” exclaimed Bradshaw, dashing the
tear from his eye: “that gives me more pleasure
than the victory. The lads that I have grown up
with, were true to their old school-mate. I thought
they would be. I thought I knew them.”

“Let's shout like thunder!” exclaimed Geirson,
“and let the other fellows hear us now.”

Jekyl announced to the crowd without, the vote,
and they made the welkin ring again with their
cheers. “Bradshaw!” “Bradshaw!” “Bradshaw!”
they shouted. Lights were placed in the window,
at which Bradshaw made his appearance; and,
after being greeted with the most enthusiastic hurras,
he returned his thanks to his friends, in language
glowing from the heart—in a manner that
almost reconciled those of his opponents, who
chanced to be by, to his election.”

After this, a procession, headed by a band of music,
was formed by Bradshaw's friends, and they escorted
him to Broadbelt's establishment, where they
insisted upon having another speech from him.
Bradshaw found at Broadbelt's Mr. Chesterton, together

with Selman and Cavendish, and, on asking
for Kentuck, he was told, that, as soon as the result
was known, he had mounted his horse and gone to
the Purchase. Bradshaw burned to follow him,
but he could not tear himself away from his friends.

“The pedagogue, rod in hand, chased the urchin
hard,” said the Judge, “but the urchin out-ran
him.”

“Ha! ha! you're alluding,” exclaimed Mr. Chesterton,
“ugh—you're alluding to my caricature,
hey! not a bad notion that. Boy, (to Bradshaw,)
this southern sun improves the puritan breed—
your mother is a southerner, hey! you'll see what
a race Willy 'll raise: by the—ugh—by, speaking
of such thing, I saw old Carlton at Mrs. Holliday's.”

“Was Mary there?”

“Ugh—ugh—why do you interrupt? I didn't
see her. I told the old fellow, plumply, that he
had been deceived by that wily dog—ugh—Talbot,
and that his daughter would have you, and he
couldn't help it—ugh—he was as wrothy as Mrs.
Pomona—my apple woman—my goddess, ha! ha!
said he wouldn't give her one cent—ugh—ugh—
he's rabid. I told him, if things worked right,
(winking at Bradshaw,) he might be senator, if he
was beaten for Congress. Egad! he takes it hard:
he raged; he blew like a porpoise—but I'll manage
him.”

Bradshaw stole away from Mr. Chesterton, whispered
to Cavendish he was not very well, and requested
him, if any one should ask for him, to say
that he was so much fatigued and unwell, that he
had gone home.

“I will, Bradshaw; you ought to go; you look
worn out: they'll excuse you; but don't let them
see you going. I don't often frolic; but I am determined
to go it to-night. We'll drink to you in
bumpers. Selman's married now; a tipsy frolic
won't harm him as much as formerly—hey, Hal?”

“It was on Bradshaw's account that I got high
before,” said Selman, with some little confusion,
“and he got me off; so, if I go in for it now, and
there's any—ahem,” clearing his throat, “Bradshaw
must bear the blame, and plead the cause.
`It is the cause, it is the cause,' hey, Bradshaw, as
Othello says.”

“Ah! Selman,” said Bradshaw, shaking his hand,
“if matrimony has reconciled you to quotations, I
know you're a happy man.” So saying, Bradshaw
stole away. After some little delay at the livery
stable, he obtained a horse; and, giving him the
spur and the rein, he went with the speed of Dick
Turpin, or Mazeppa, but with far different feelings.
He dashed on with a swelling heart. “I
have my foot on the ladder,” said he, “and I'll
mount—how our neighbours stuck to me!—it made
me feel prouder than I ever in my life felt before.
When Carlton and I met at the Purchase polls to-day,
and the old farmers gathered round me, and
left him alone in his glory, I felt like Rob Roy on
his native heath, when he proclaimed himself
M`Gregor. And my old schoolmates, how they
stood for me; and Kentuck, Selman, Jekyl, the
Judge, old Chesterton, true as steel—Talbot's expatriated,
hey! I've done good deeds to-day; and, by
the light of heaven, if ever he return to the city,

that certificate—his infamy, shall go forth upon the
four winds. And Mary, the only woman I have
ever loved—my boyhood's worship—my manhood's
passion, idolatry, pride—how wasted and wan she
looked! I felt at once, deep in my heart's core,
how much I loved her. And she—how completely
a woman. That wan look of hers; though pride,
wounded pride, flashed in her eye, told me, indeed,
I was beloved. I do love such a spirit as hers; and
then her all-surpassing beauty, and her gifts of intellect—Clinton
Bradshaw,” he exclaimed, rising
in his stirrups, and speaking to his horse, that at
the word sprang forward at full speed; “Clinton
Bradshaw, you will win your way in this broad
world. 'Tis a good omen to be the elected of your
lady love, and your countrymen, on the same day.
But is Mary at the Purchase?—am I her elected?
I trust in God Emily has explained it all. There's
the moon; she is above the clouds, at last; they
obscure her path no more—she is leaving them like
young ambition—gloriously she beameth.”

Here he reached the Purchase gate: his horse
was so restless and excited, that he could not turn
his head to the gate, so as to open it. He had to
dismount. As he threw the gate open, the horse,
with a bound, broke from him, and darted away.

“You're a free spirit!” exclaimed Bradshaw,
“and good luck to you!” As the nearest way to the
house, Bradshaw cut across the orchard that was
intersected by the lane; and in this direction he
approached the side of the dwelling. The house
was an old-fashioned one, as we have said, of but
one story. Through the shutters of his father's

chamber, which were partly open, he saw a light
streaming. He trod noiselessly, and looked in—
He beheld his father on his knees, by a stand on
which stood a light. A Bible was open before him,
and, with his hands extended on the open page,
he was praying fervently. There was no one in
the room but his father, and Bradshaw stood with
filial awe contemplating the picture. The light
shone full upon his parent's long gray hairs, amidst
which it beamed, while his fine features wore the
expression of deep devotion. Intensely Bradshaw
listened.

“Oh, most holy Father!” said the parent, in a
fervent voice, “as thou hast vouchsafed to bestow
upon him a superior mind—a mind to control his
fellows—guide and guard him in the path of rectitude,
and patriotism—endue him from on high
with the energy of virtue. Let the stern love
of liberty of conscience, which brought his forefathers
to this happy land, sink deep into his heart.
Make him thy servant, Father. Teach him to act
for thy glory, and for thy people's good. Make
him the succour of the friendless—the righter of
the wronged. Let not a usurping ambition mislead
him from thee. Temper and chasten his
spirit in its aspirings; and let them only be in the
cause of virtue and of truth. Teach him to know
what thy Son has taught; and oh, enable him to
practise it! Give him strength from on high,
most holy Father! And, Parent of all mercy,
if thy servant has felt vain-glorious in his success;
if I have nursed an unchristian pride, forgive”—Here
Mr. Bradshaw bowed his head

upon the Bible, and his voice became so tremulous
that his son could not hear him. Clinton leaned
against the house, and wept. At this moment he
heard a voice within a few feet of him, say, in soliloquy,
“I wonder Clinton does not come. Oh,
what a load is from my heart!”

He turned—it was Mary Carlton, who, when
the moon shone forth, had stepped out to look
and listen for him.

“Mary—my Mary!” said Bradshaw.

“Clinton, oh Clinton!” and she threw her arms
around him, and buried her head in his bosom.