It had been a remarkable success; everybody said so.  Most of them declared solemnly they had never seen anything like it.  They pronounced it a record popularity.  I thought it was because the good people had selected me as their candidate on independent and purity of election principles.  This explanation gave them great joy, and they cheered with extra enthusiasm for their own virtue.  Judge, then, my surprise a short while after, when, notwithstanding the firm principles upon which we had proceeded, and by which my popularity was secured, I began to perceive that money was the only thing they wanted!  Their uncorruptible nature yielded, alas! to the lowering influence of that deity.

It was at first a little mysterious why they should have postponed their demands—­secret and silent—­until almost the last moment; but the fact is, a large section of my party were dissatisfied with the voluntary nature of their services; they declined to work for nothing, and having shown me that the prize—­that is, the seat—­was mine, they determined to let me know it must be paid for.  A large number of my voters would do nothing; they kept their hands in their pockets because they could not get them into mine.

This was no longer a secret, but on the eve of the election was boldly put forward as a demand, and I was plainly told that L500 distributed in small sums would make my election sure.

As, however, in no circumstances would I stoop to their offer, this demand did not in the least influence me—­I never wavered in my resolution, and refused to give a farthing.  Furthermore, showing the web in which they sought to entangle me, the same voice that suggested the L500 also informed me that I was closely watched by a couple of detectives set on by the other side.

I was well aware that the “other side” had given five-pound notes for votes, but I could neither follow the example nor use the information, as it was told me “in the strictest confidence.”

I was therefore powerless, and felt we were drifting asunder more and more.  At last came the polling day, and a happy relief from an unpleasant situation it certainly was.

A fine bright morning ushered in an exciting day.  There was a great inrush of voters at the polling-booth, friendly votes, if I may call them so—­votes, I mean to say, of honest supporters; these were my acquaintances made during my sojourn at Barnstaple; others came, a few for Cave as well as myself.  Cave did not seem to enjoy the popularity that I had achieved.  Still, he got a few votes.

Now came an exciting scene.  About midday, the working man’s dinner hour, the tide began to turn, for the whole body of bribed voters were released from work.  My majority quickly dwindled, and at length disappeared, until I was in a very hopeless minority.  Everywhere it was “Stukely for ever!” Some cried, “Stukely and free beer!” Stukely, who till now had hardly been anybody, and had not talked himself hoarse in their interests as I had, was the great object of their admiration and their hopes.