"A Contested Election.
"It need hardly be said, in this company, that an election among us is a far more exciting occasion than among our less-favored American neighbors, who ignore the superior advantages of voting viva voce, and adopt the less manly and unobtrusive medium of the ballot.
"Why, gentlemen, I venture to say, that our little capital town of C., with its thousand votes, presents more stir, makes more noise, drinks more whiskey, and is the arena of more fistic science and club play, during an ordinary election, than any city in New England, of four times the population, during a presidential struggle. The open polling-booths in the heart of the city surrounded by crowds of intelligent (and highly-excited) voters; the narrow gangways crowded, rain or shine, by those immediately claiming the right of suffrage; the narrow precincts of the sheriff's court, the sublime majesty of that important officer; the ineffable serenity of the city clerk; the various bearings of the candidates or their representatives; the frantic efforts of a few uniformed police to keep order; the evident and good-natured determination of the crowd that the aforesaid officials shall 'have their hands full;' the loud voices and sharp questions of the challengers and their victim; the dainty bits of family history made public property; the overbearing insolence of the old lawyers, and the overweening impudence of the young ones; the open taverns; the rival carriages for the accommodation of doubtful, drunken, and lazy voters, together with the lively little incidents which diversify the picture as the culminating glory of these various provocative elements,—form a picture which it hath not entered into the heart of the average American citizen to conceive of.
"But, however lively the picture, an election in these degenerate later days is but a tame affair compared with those which took place during my first years of labor in political matters. As all know, the island was given away on one day to certain individuals, on conditions of which nothing more may be said here than that one was, that a certain number of settlers were to be placed on each estate within a given number of years. Accordingly, from almost every section of the British Isles, the proprietors sought out such emigrants as could most easily be procured.
"The result was, that we still have settlements in close proximity to each other, whose peoples use different languages in daily conversation, who vary radically in religious belief, have few natural traits in common, and are almost, if not altogether, 'natural enemies' each to each. Thus we have a settlement of Protestant Highland Scotch close by a large estate peopled with Monaghan or Kilkenny Irish Catholics; and perhaps a little farther on is a hamlet of Low-landers, or a village of thrifty English folk.
"But in those days these distinctions were yet more marked, and the feuds of Orange and Ribbon-man, Scotch and Irish, Englishman and French Acadian, had not then given way before the softening and concealing hand of 'Time, the great leveler;' and so some twenty years ago, during a close contest between the then rising liberal party and the conservatives, a riot took place near the polling-booth in the Highland Scotch settlement of Belfast. All the combined strength of both parties was present; the canvassing had been of the most thorough nature, and all the antipathies of race and religion appealed to for electioneering purposes.
"It is said that the Catholics went there expecting a fight, each armed with a well-balanced, tough shillelagh, and that they made a general attack on the Scotch. At all events, it is certain that the larger number of the latter had to betake themselves to the nearest available weapon, and that many were cut and bruised by the skilfully-handled weapons of the active Irish cudgel-players. One Scotchman, however (a fellow of unusual stature), seized a fence-rail, and, by his single arm, stayed the tide of flight in his part of the fray. Almost frantic with apprehension, rage, and the desire for revenge, he wielded his ponderous weapon as if it were an ordinary club, striking such tremendous blows that tradition has it that not one of a half-score of the best and bravest of the Irish leaders survived the effects of those terrible and crushing blows. Profiting by his prowess, the Scotch procured the heavy stakes of their sleds, tough poles, pieces of firewood, and similar ponderous weapons, and, headed by the hero of the day, made a charge, returning with terrible severity the comparatively slight damage inflicted by the light cudgels of the Irish.
"The details of that day of blood—how the fray began, and between whom; the varying records of its progress as victory inclined first to one side, and then to the other; the number of the killed and wounded, and the names of the fallen—have never been generally known, and probably never will be; for many of the principal actors in that savage drama have passed away 'into the dread unknown.'
"But it is still commonly believed, and so reported, that over a score of the Irish were killed on the field, or died of their wounds; that no Scotchman perished; that the field where the deadliest part of the work was done became accursed, and has lain barren to this day; and that the leader of the Scotch became insane with the memory of his own terrible prowess.
"Among those who have reason to remember that dreadful affair, however, may be numbered C." (Here the narrator named an influential and wealthy business man.) "He was travelling in that section, and being ignorant of what had taken place, stopped at a country town to bait his horse, and warm and refresh himself. Entering, he found the reception-room filled with Irish, whose harsh features were inflamed with varied passions, while the persons of many bore marks of recent injury. No one replied to his friendly greeting, and their whole conversation was carried on in Erse, although every intonation and gesture was replete with passion. Suddenly he saw the landlady beckoning him out of the room, and, rising, he approached her as if to give directions about his horse.
"Trembling with agitation, she addressed him:—
"'O, Mr. C., for the love of Heaven, run to your sleigh, and leave at once, or your life isn't worth an hour's purchase!'
"Then, in a few words, she gave him some idea of the day's events, and taking the measure of oats provided, Mr. C. passed on through his enemies to the shed, where, beside a number of rude country sledges, stood his own fleet horse and light cutter. Taking the bells off his horse, he backed him out of the shed, and was ready for flight. On the nearest sledge was bound a long, oblong parcel, covered with a rug. Curiosity proved stronger than fear, and lifting a loose corner of the scanty covering, Mr. C. found himself face to face with a corpse!
"Springing into his sleigh, he put his horse to his utmost speed, and when day dawned was a score of miles from the scene of his unexpected danger and appalling night adventure."