The Convict: A Tale

by G. P. R. James

Outside the harbour, however, in what was called the bay, especially when the wind set strong from the southwest, a very different scene was displayed, for there nature seemed to have laboured alone on a far grander scale. Two high and rocky promontories, at some points about a mile and a half apart, stretched forth from the general line of the coast into the sea, like two gigantic piers. One, following the line of the high ridge which crowned it, was nearly straight; the other swept round in the arc of a large circle, projecting considerably farther into the ocean than the other, but gradually approaching, in its sweep, the opposite promontory; so that, at the entrance of this magnificent bay, the passage was not more than half a mile in width. Few winds, of all those to which mariners have given name, affected in any great degree the deep still waters within that high and mountainous circle; and there, when tempests were raging without, might be seen riding, in calm security, the rich argosie and the stately ship of war. No cargoes, however, were now disembarked at Barhampton, except those of the small vessels which entered the harbour, and which supplied the town and the neighbouring country with a variety of miscellaneous articles of ordinary use.

Nevertheless, in former times, the town, it would appear, must have been a place of some importance. Rising up the slopes of the hills, from the brink of the harbour, its narrow, tortuous, ill-lighted, unswept, and dilapidated-looking streets reached the summit of the high ground, where a number of superior houses were to be found, somewhat stately in appearance, antique in form, and cold and formal in aspect, except, indeed, where a cheerful little garden interposed, blushing with china-astres, dahlias, and other autumnal flowers. Yet even these could not give it an air of life, or if they did at all, it was an air of vegetable life. There was no movement, there was no activity in it. It seemed as if everybody in the place was dead, except a few men who had come in to bury the rest. Beyond these houses of the better classes, as rich people are called, were some poorer dwellings, descending the slope on the opposite side of the ridge; and beyond these again, came the ancient walls of the town, built and perfected when Barhampton was a place of strength.

The town had not, indeed, been dismantled even yet, but it had been disarmed; and now, instead of large cannon, and soldiers 'bearded like pard,' the broad ramparts displayed the nursery-maids and the little children of the citizens flirting with apprentices, or peeping out of empty embrasures; or, on the Sunday, the great mass of the inhabitants of the town walking in gay attire, enjoying the fine air, and gazing over the wide prospect. Round about, nearly in the shape of a horse-shoe, from one point of the harbour to the other, enclosing the whole city, if it could be so called, within their area, swept those old walls, time-worn, and lichen-covered, and loaded with snapdragon. No mason's trowel, no busy chisel, had been employed upon them for more than two centuries, and the hard knocks of Oliver Cromwell's cannon had left traces still unobliterated even by the equalizing hand of time.

The external appearance of the place was not at all deceptive. The march of improvement was not a quick march in Barhampton. In fact, in the space of fifty years, but one improvement had been made in the town, and the audacious and reforming mayor, who had sanctioned, recommended, and successfully carried out this act of innovation, had been held in execration ever since by a considerable portion of his fellow-townsmen. The deed I speak of was the enlargement of the High-street, and the giving it as near as possible a straightforward direction. It would now admit two carriages, or even waggons, abreast in every part; formerly only one could pass, except at particular places, where a greater expansion had been purposely given to the road, in order to prevent the comers up and goers down from jamming each other together immovably. In previous times, also, this street had pursued a sort of zigzag direction, which nearly doubled its length, and this had evidently been done, not for the purpose of avoiding the acclivities, but rather for that of finding them out; for even in going down the hill, carriages had to mount as often, though not so far at any one time, as they had to descend; and in coming up, one rise seemed only to be overcome in order to go down and seek for another.

The same innovating magistrate who had committed the heinous act of straightening and widening the street, had expressed an antipathy to the old town gates, and their heavy oaken doors, with portcullis and draw-bridge; but the whole town rose as one man to resist his rash and horrible proceedings. In vain he showed that more than one horse had taken fright in going over the clattering, rickety, old bridge; in vain he pointed out that a very respectable old lady had broken her neck at the same spot, by a fall into the ditch. The people said that the horses were mad and the lady drunk, to do such things; and the mayor died, like all great patriots, before he saw his schemes for the improvement of his native place carried into full accomplishment.

Thirty years had passed since the reign of this potentate, and a change had come over the spirit of the people of Barhampton. There were many great reformers in the place--men who sighed for a complete change in all things--who stood up for the rights and liberties of the people; who would have all men permitted to sell gin and cordial compounds from any hour at which they chose to begin, to any hour at which they chose to end; who corrected municipal abuses, and castigated corrupt parish officers; who worried the mayor, tormented the aldermen, bored the county magistrates and members of parliament, abused the overseers, and set even the beadle at nought. But in the mending of their ways they still forgot to mend the ways of the city: that did not come under their notions of reform. They refused a church-rate, and therefore could not be expected to vote a paving and lighting rate. They objected to all taxes of all kinds, and most of all they objected to tax themselves. They evaded imposts wherever they could; paid grumblingly those they were compelled to pay; cheated the customs by prescription, and the excise by cunning; and thought themselves pure and immaculate if they only defrauded the state and escaped the law. How often is it with men, that punishment rather than crime is considered disgraceful!

But I must not moralize upon the little community of Barhampton. Things went on increasing and prospering with the reformers. At first they were moved apparently by nothing but the pure spirit of innovation; but there were some men of more mind amongst them than the rest; and having all agreed upon the necessity of great and sweeping changes in church, state, and municipality, they proceeded to inquire what sort of changes were desirable. They instructed themselves in what other people demanded, and thus the reforming part of the population divided itself into three distinct portions, consisting of Whigs, Radicals, and Chartists. Amongst the former were some of the most respectable and dullest men of the town: the Radicals comprised the great body of the mob-ocracy. The Chartists were men of enthusiastic temperaments, sincere and eager characters, and in many instances, of considerable powers of mind. They saw great social evils, magnified their extent by the force of imagination, and, unaccustomed to any of the details of public business, perceived but one remedy for the sickness of the state, and imagined that remedy to be a panacea for all ills. Moral force was a good thing in their eyes, but physical force they thought a better. They believed themselves prepared for all contingencies; they imagined themselves ready to shed their blood in support of that which they never doubted to be good; they dreamed of the crown of martyrdom in their country's service; and, in short, they were political fanatics, though not a small portion of true patriotism lay at the bottom of their yearnings for revolution. On most occasions the Radicals would join with them, and therefore the Chartists looked upon them for the time as brothers; but the union was not solid, and in more important matters still, the Radicals were disposed to support the Whigs. This fact began to be felt a little before the period at which my tale opens. The Chartists imagined that they perceived a greater sympathy in many points between themselves and the Tories, than between themselves and the Whigs; that there was more real philanthropy, a greater wish to see the condition of the lower classes materially improved, amongst persons of Tory principle, than in any other class. But there were also fundamental differences, which rendered perfect assimilation with them impossible, and though they regarded the Tories with a kindly feeling, they could not unite with them for any great object.

Such was briefly the state of the town, physical and moral, when the carriage of Sir Arthur Adelon rolled through the gates, which had not been closed for half a century; and a drag having been put on, it began to descend slowly the principal street of the place. In that principal street was situated the small inn called the Rose, which, though there were numerous public-houses, was the only place which kept post-horses, and honoured itself by the name of hotel. The streets were miserably dark, and nearly deserted, and Sir Arthur Adelon felt a little nervous and uneasy at the thought of what was before him.

In the heat of blood and party strife, men will go boldly and straight-forwardly towards objects pointed out by principles in their own mind, and will seek those objects and assert those principles at the risk of life and fortune, and all that makes life and fortune desirable. But they proceed upon the same course with very different feelings when, in calmness and tranquillity, after a long cessation of turmoil and contest, they return to the same paths, even though their general views may remain unchanged, and they may think their purposes as laudable as ever.

Such was the case with Sir Arthur Adelon. Perhaps, if one looked closely into his heart, and could see, not only what was in it at the present moment, but what I may call the history of his sensations, we should find that his having embraced the extreme views which he entertained had originated in mortified vanity and an embittered spirit. An early disappointment, acting upon a haughty and somewhat vindictive temper, had soured his feelings towards society in general; and when, shortly afterwards, he had met a check, by the refusal of a peerage which he thought he had well merited, a bitter disgust succeeded towards institutions in which he was excluded from the high position he had coveted, and he became anxious to throw down other men from a position which he could not attain. It was by no regular process of reasoning from these premises that he arrived at the extremely democratical opinions which he often loudly proclaimed; but the events of his early life gave a general bias to his thoughts, which led him step by step to the violent views which he announced in two contested elections in Yorkshire; and at the present time, though he had sunk into temporary apathy, his notions were not at all moderated even by years and experience. He was not inclined, indeed, to risk so much, or to engage in such rash enterprises, as he might have done in the hasty days of youth; but the long-buried seeds were still in his mind, and it only required warmth and cultivation to make them spring up as green and fresh as ever. Nevertheless, he approached discussions in which he felt he might be carried beyond the point where prudence counselled him to stop, with a great degree of nervous anxiety; and he almost hoped, as his carriage stopped at the inn door, and no signs of waking life appeared but the solitary lamp over the little portico, that some accident might have prevented the meeting. The next instant, however, a light shone through the glass door, and a waiter appearing, approached the step of the carriage, saying, "The gentleman told me to tell you, Sir Arthur, that he would be back in a few minutes."