Now a new source of delay and worry arose. The moment everybody knew they were going into print—why is it print sounds so much better than manuscript?—each and all wanted to revise and add to their histories. First, all the sections had to receive back their summaries and minutes of evidence, to be rewritten, corrected, revised, and above all extended. The scribbling of pens recommenced with redoubled vigour, and now the printer’s devils appeared upon the scene. The cost of printing the enormous mass of verbiage must have been something immense, but it was cheerfully submitted to—because each man looked forward to the pleasure of seeing himself in print.
Acres upon acres of proofs went in and out of the Sternhold Hall, and meantime Aymer grew impatient and weary of it. His time was much more occupied than at Barnham. He had to conduct all Broughton’s correspondence, and when that was finished lend a hand in arranging the minutes of evidence for the committee, who had applied for assistance to the solicitors. He had only reckoned on a month at Stirmingham at the outside. Already a fortnight had elapsed, and there seemed no sign of the end.
His letters to Violet became tinged with a species of dull despair. All this scribbling was to him the very acme of misery, the very winter of discontent—meaningless, insufferable. There was no progress in it for him: he could not find a minute’s spare time now to proceed with his private work. Not a step was gained nearer Violet.
When at last the scribbling was over; when the proofs had been read and reread and corrected till the compositors went mad; then the speechifying had to begin. This to Aymer was even more wearisome than the other. For Mr. Broughton having discovered his literary talent, employed him to listen to the debate and write a daily précis of its progress, which it would be less trouble to him to read than the copious and interminable notes of the shorthand writer.
This order compelled Aymer to pay close attention to every speech from first to last; and as they one and all followed the American plan of writing out their speeches and reading them, most were of inordinate length. To suit the speakers a new arrangement of the hall had to be made. The screens were now removed, and the sections placed in a kind of semicircle, with the central section in front. Those who desired to speak gave in their names, and were called upon by the president in regular rotation.
The first subject discussed was the method to be pursued. Some recommended that the whole body of claimants should combine and present their claims en masse. Others thought that this plan might sacrifice those who had good claims to those who had bad ones. Many were for forming a committee, chosen from the various sections, to remain in England and instruct the solicitors; others were for forming at once a committee of solicitors.
After four or five days of fierce discussion the subject was still unsettled, and a new one occupied its place. This was—how should the plunder be divided? Such a topic seemed to outsiders very much like reckoning the chickens before they were hatched. But not so to these enthusiastic gentlemen. They were certain of wresting the property from the hands of the “Britishers,” who had so long kept them out of their rights—the Stars and Stripes would yet float over the city of Stirmingham, and the President of the United States should be invited to a grand dinner in that very hall!
The division of the property caused more dissension than everything else taken together. One section—that of the Original Swampers—declared that it would have, nothing should prevent its having, the whole of the streets, etc., built on the site of the Swamp. The Sibbolds cared not a rap for the Swamp; they would have all the property which had grown upon the site of old Sibbold’s farm at Wolfs Glow. The Illegitimates claimed pieces here and there, corresponding to the islands of the Swamp. Someone proposed that the meeting should be provided with maps of Stirmingham, and the idea was unanimously adopted.
Then came the day of the surveyors. One vast map was ordered—it had to be made in sections—and was estimated to cover, when extended, a mile in length by three hundred yards in breadth; and then it did not satisfy some of the claimants. Then followed a terrible wrangle over the maps. Everybody wanted to mark his possession upon it with red ink, and these red ink lines invariably interfered with one another. One gentleman proposed, with true American ingenuity, to have the map traced in squares—like the outlying territories and backwoods of America—and to assign to each section a square! But this was too equal a mode to satisfy the more grasping.
Finally, it was resolved that all the minutes of evidence should be gone through by the central committee, and that they should sketch out those portions of the city to which each section was entitled. This took some time. At the end of that time the great Sternhold Hall presented an extraordinary spectacle. The walls of the hall, from the ceiling to the floor, and all round, and the very ceiling itself, were papered with these sections of the map, each strongly marked with lines in red ink. Near the stage there was a vast library of books, reaching halfway to the ceiling; this was composed of the summaries, minutes of evidence, etc.
All round the room wandered the claimants in
