Magnus Merriman (22 page)

‘Yes,' said Lady Mercy, ‘speed is essential now.' She turned to Lord Faloon: ‘What do you think of the plan, Tony?'

‘I'm afraid I wasn't listening to it,' he answered. ‘Where ignorance is wise, ‘tis folly to be wiser.'

‘That's good advice,' said Lady Mercy. ‘Well, Quentin, you're no longer my private secretary: there's a cheque for a month's salary in lieu of notice. Anything you do hereafter you do on your own responsibility. But God help you if you don't make a good job of it.'

Quentin worked quickly and well, however, and three days later the second bombshell exploded in the constituency when it was announced that Mr Hammerson, that well-known Conservative, had been adopted as an Independent Liberal Candidate. Mr Hammerson set to work immediately, attended by a small but energetic company of young Liberals who, suspecting that their faith was dead, preached it with all the passionate enthusiasm that befits a lost cause. The ghostly voice of Mr Gladstone was heard again; the gospel of Free Trade was cried in evangelical earnestness; the olive branch of disarmament was held aloft like a monstrance on White Sunday. The young Liberals ran through the land like a flame, but for all their heat they set very little on fire.

For now the electors were puzzled indeed and suspicious of everyone. They felt uneasily that someone was making fools of them, and they resented the multitude of candidates and canvassers who were plaguing them for their votes. They had been brought up to believe that their votes had a certain value, and they were naturally averse from throwing valuable things away. But which of so motley a five deserved their confidence? They were asked to elect a Conservative who had lately been a Liberal; a Liberal who for forty years had been a Conservative; a Socialist who condemned the policy of the existing Socialist government; an Independent Conservative who divided his allegiance between high tariffs and Lady Mercy Cotton; and a Scottish Nationalist who was apparently at odds with many other members of his party—for whenever Magnus was questioned about a policy for India he adopted an Imperialist attitude, while Beaty Bracken and Hugh Skene hotly denounced Imperialism and said that India would be far better off if the Brahmins and Mr Gandhi and the Untouchables and the Pathans were left to work out their destiny for themselves.

Lady Mercy did what she could to clarify the issue, for the
Morning Call
roundly asserted that the only candidates who need to be taken seriously were Mr Emerson and Mr Hammerson. With singular broad-mindedness the
Call
praised Mr Hammerson for his pure-souled advocacy of Liberalism, and reported his meetings in a very flattering
way. But the electors were always reminded that, however much they might admire Mr Hammerson, their duty was to vote for Mr Emerson. And the electors—many of whom sat on chairs presented as free gifts by Lady Mercy, and patronized her chamber pots—thought in the solitude of their homes a broad Scotch thought that might be construed in the universal tongue as
Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes
, and decided to vote for neither. So Lady Mercy clarified the issue despite herself.

Now as Nomination Day approached, and hourly the atmosphere grew more hectic, a rumour spread that the Nationalists, whom everybody despised, were making converts by the thousand. And promptly, the other four candidates, who had a proper notion of their function as politicians, simultaneously declared that they too favoured the idea of Home Rule for Scotland—if the people of Scotland desired it—and heartily promised to promise the electors anything else they wanted; for such was the plain and simple duty of democratic candidates.

The rumour of Magnus's progress originated in the fishing villages, where he had held a couple of unusually enthusiastic meetings. This success had come just in time to rescue him from complete depression. The adoption of Mr Hammerson had filled him with disgust at having to compete for power among such a crowd of pot-hunters; he was bored by the necessity of repeating the same arguments night after night—for was not the tongue's ability to range from cockle-shells to Saturn, from madrigals to buccaneers, the only excuse for its employment? Parrots might be content with a pair of phrases, but the talking of men should be variable as the wind; and he felt ashamed of himself because of an experience that was the reverse of his dismal Pitsharnie meeting: he had gone to another village, ill-tempered, and addressed a small audience in hectoring tones, telling them that Scotland's plight was their own fault, and they should sleep in shame to think of it; then he had looked more closely at his listeners, and seen nothing but kindly faces, sad and noble faces, faces made grave by years of toil, lined with sorrow, and sweetened by virtue, or faith in God, or their perception of winter's transience and summer's kind
return; and he had been filled with remorse to hear himself blaming these simple, helpless, and lovable people for what was far beyond their power to alter.

In these moods of depression the incompetent ebullience of Captain Smellie was very hard to endure. The Captain pretended that Magnus's success with the fishermen had been due to his organization of the meetings, and now he was eager to concentrate for a few days on the mining district. But Magnus thought it wiser to establish himself firmly with the fishermen, and told Smellie to arrange a meeting in one of the coast villages for the eve of Nomination Day.

The ceremonies of that day were important, for it was then that the candidates were each required to deposit, by the hands of their agents, the sum of one hundred and fifty pounds as a guarantee of their serious intentions, their honourable behaviour, and their ability to poll at least one-eighth of the total votes cast.—Should any candidate fail to attract that small percentage of suffrages, then his deposit would be forfeit.—On the preceding morning Mr Macdonell came through from Glasgow to confer with Magnus. Owing to the unfortunate back-sliding of Lord Sandune the Party was almost bankrupt, and they were quite unable to find the deposit money. Magnus had previously been assured that he would not be asked to find this sum himself, for his personal expenses in the election would be considerable and he had already generously contributed to the Party's funds. And he had explained to Mr Macdonell that, despite some semblance of prosperity in his behaviour, he was far from being a wealthy man. But now Mr Macdonell was compelled to seek his help: if Magnus could not produce a hundred and fifty pounds, then no one could, and his candidature would come to an untimely end: and as there was no risk of forfeiting the deposit …

‘Oh, none,' said Magnus.

‘Smellie tells me that you're doing very well indeed,' said Mr Macdonell.

‘I am, in spite of what he says.'

‘Then perhaps …?'

‘Yes,' said Magnus, ‘I'll pay the deposit myself.'

Mr Macdonell expressed his gratitude, and Magnus went
to a bank where, after telephoning to Edinburgh for authority, the manager cashed his cheque for a hundred and fifty pounds: for according to the regulations governing the conduct of an election the deposit must be paid in actual cash.

Captain Smellie, who had accompanied Magnus, said very cheerfully, ‘Well, that's your duty done, Merriman. Now I must do mine. You won't see this money again till the Sheriff gives it back to you: I'll take charge of it now, and I'll pay it in tomorrow. That's my part of the job, so you needn't lie awake tonight listening for burglars. Ha-ha! I'm the watch-dog, and I don't think many burglars would care to tackle me.'

Captain Smellie stuffed the notes into his pocket-book and regarded Magnus with an amiably converging stare.

The fishermen's meeting that night was a great success. Hugh Skene first woke them to enthusiasm, and Magnus maintained it by outlining a scheme for the protection of Scottish seas and fishing-rights, that, he declared, would be the first duty of an independent Scottish parliament. No longer would their inshore waters be invaded by English trawlers and foreign trawlers; no longer would they suffer the destruction of their gear, the ruination of their fishing grounds, the neglect of their harbours; but when Scotland had asserted her sovereignty then Scotland would protect their livelihood and her seas, and foreign pirates would be treated as they deserved.

It was a fighting speech that he made. He was inspired by the sight of the three hundred fishermen who faced him. There were no women in the audience. The men sat close-packed in sombre rows. They were dark and keen of face, blue-jerseyed, solid and strong. They smelt of the sea, and like the sea they could break to storm. He quoted case after case of trawlers that had been sighted in inshore waters—pirates and poachers—and the listeners growled like the sea when the wind is waking. He spoke of the cruisers that were supposed to protect the fishing-grounds, and the fishermen laughed in savage scorn. Then he said, ‘If the English government won't do their duty and protect our seas, we must take matters into our own hands. We fought for England in the last war: we'll fight for ourselves in the
next one—and God help the first foreign trawler that puts a nose into the Forth, or the Minch, or the Moray Firth!' Then the storm broke, and the fishermen rose in their excitement like the sea on a winter's night.

As if on a wave Magnus was borne on their enthusiasm, and the meeting became a Scottish triumph. Nor was he disappointed when he returned to his hotel in Kinlawton, for all the other speakers who had been out had come back with stories of success. His camp had filled, for the last few days of the battle, with Nationalist supporters from Edinburgh and Glasgow and elsewhere. Beaty Bracken had addressed an out-door audience in Kingshouse and led them down the street singing
Scots Wha Ha'e
. McVicar—still in Meiklejohn's evening trousers—and Mr Macdonell reported good meetings in several villages. Two or three enthusiastic young men from Glasgow swore they had been asked to give their speeches all over again from the beginning, so enamoured had been their listeners of their eloquence and fine arguments. Sergeant Denny and McRuvie had made a score of converts by the simple process of assaulting them, and Mrs Dolphin, who had been energetically canvassing for a couple of days, declared she had helped to cook fifty dinners in Kingshouse and Kinlawton, and taken Nationalism into every kitchen she visited.

‘Do you know this,' she said earnestly, ‘there's scarcely a woman in Scotland knows how to cook a piece of beef. They roast it till every bit of colour and flavour's gone out of it. I found half a dozen of them spoiling good joints today alone. And do you know why? Because they think it looks indecent if you put it on the table when it's nice and red. Now that's a fact, though you mightn't believe it. But Scotland is so full of bloody Puritans—excuse my French—that they're frightened even of a piece of beef when it looks in any way naked and like real flesh. I told that to some of the women I was talking to today, and I said, “Now you vote for Mr Merriman, and when we get a government of our own you'll be taught to cook a decent dinner, not like that brown bit of leather there. And you won't be frightened to look at a sirloin of beef because it's red and juicy and naked, so to speak,” I said. “You won't be frightened of anything,
whether it's naked or not, because we're going to have a lot of fun when we've got a government of our own, and fun's worth having, so be sure and vote for Mr Merriman, and for God's sake take that joint out of the oven before it's burnt to a cinder,” I said.'

With all this encouragement Magnus grew very cheerful and began to think that he was winning indeed. Had it not been for the presence of Captain Smellie he would have been perfectly happy, sitting in the midst of his supporters and supplying them with a handsome variety of drinks. He called to a waiter: ‘Three large whiskies, a crême de menthe, a benedictine, two bottles of Bass, and a gin and ginger.'—How mellifluous an order, and how delightful to gratify the desires of one's friends with entertainment so robustious and multi-coloured! But it was exasperating to waste good money on buying a drink for Captain Smellie. The Captain was displeasing, in that company, as a penny whistle in a suite for strings. He drew his chair closer to Magnus's, and said, ‘Well, Merriman, I've worked hard for you, and now you're reaping the benefits of my work. You're winning, as I always said you would. It wasn't easy to organize a constituency like this, but I think you'll admit that I've done it pretty well. If I hadn't foreseen the various difficulties that have risen …'

‘Oh, go to hell,' said Magnus, and wondered if it was worth while to explain to Smellie exactly how incompetent, boring, and mendacious he was. But the Captain gave him no opportunity to say anything more.

‘That's all right, Merriman,' he said in a kind and purring voice. He stood up and smiled down at Magnus. ‘You're tired, I know you're tired. I'm tired myself, but my job doesn't permit me to say so. Now you go to bed and get a good sleep, and you'll feel a lot better in the morning. I'll call for you at half past ten. Good-night, Merriman. Good-night, everybody! I'm very pleased indeed with the work you've been doing. Keep it up! And don't let the candidate sit up too late: he's very tired, and we must nurse his strength. Good-night, good-night!'

On the following morning, shortly after ten o'clock, Mr Boden arrived at the hotel. Magnus was reading the papers.
They discussed the news of the day and admired the accomplishment of Nelly Bly in describing the behaviour of a hostile audience with such ambiguity that readers of the
Morning Call
might easily imagine that Mr Emerson had been accorded a unanimous vote of confidence. At half past ten Captain Smellie had not yet arrived. At twenty minutes to eleven Mr Boden went to the front door and said there was no sign of him. Five minutes later Magnus suggested they should walk round to his lodgings: perhaps he had overslept.

They walked briskly, for the nomination papers and the deposit money—both of which were in Captain Smellie's possession—had to be in the hands of the Sheriff in Kingshouse, the county town, before half past twelve. And Kingshouse was ten miles away.