XVI. MEETING BETWEEN MASTERS AND WORKMEN.
"Not for a moment take the scorner's chair; While seated there, thou know'st not how a word, A tone, a look, may gall thy brother's heart, And make him turn in bitterness against thee." --"LOVE-TRUTHS."
The day arrived on which the masters were to have an interview witha deputation of the workpeople. The meeting was to take place in apublic room, at an hotel; and there, about eleven o'clock, themill-owners, who had received the foreign orders, began to collect.
Of course, the first subject, however full their minds might be ofanother, was the weather. Having done their duty by all the showersand sunshine which had occurred during the past week, they fell totalking about the business which brought them together. There mightbe about twenty gentlemen in the room, including some by courtesy,who were not immediately concerned in the settlement of the presentquestion but who, nevertheless, were sufficiently interested toattend. These were divided into little groups, who did not seem byany means unanimous. Some were for a slight concession, just asugar-plum to quieten the naughty child, a sacrifice to peace andquietness. Some were steadily and vehemently opposed to thedangerous precedent of yielding one jot or one tittle to the outwardforce of a turn-out. It was teaching the workpeople how to becomemasters, said they. Did they want the wildest thing here-after,they would know that the way to obtain their wishes would be tostrike work. Besides, one or two of those present had only justreturned from the New Bailey, where one of the turn-outs had beentried for a cruel assault on a poor north-country weaver, who hadattempted to work at the low price. They were indignant, and justlyso, at the merciless manner in which the poor fellow had beentreated; and their indignation at wrong, took (as it often does) theextreme form of revenge. They felt as if, rather than yield to thebody of men who were resorting to such cruel measures towards theirfellow-workmen, they, the masters, would sooner relinquish all thebenefits to be derived from the fulfilment of the commission, inorder that the workmen might suffer keenly. They forgot that thestrike was in this instance the consequence of want and need,suffered unjustly, as the endurers believed; for, however insane,and without ground of reason, such was their belief, and such wasthe cause of their violence. It is a great truth that you cannotextinguish violence by violence. You may put it down for a time;but while you are crowing over your imaginary success, see if itdoes not return with seven devils worse than its former self!
No one thought of treating the workmen as brethren and friends, andopenly, clearly, as appealing to reasonable men, stating exactly andfully the circumstances which led the masters to think it was thewise policy of the time to make sacrifices themselves, and to hopefor them from the operatives.
In going from group to group in the room, you caught such a medleyof sentences as the following--
"Poor devils! they're near enough to starving, I'm afraid. Mrs.Aldred makes two cows' heads into soup every week, and people comemany miles to fetch it; and if these times last, we must try and domore. But we must not be bullied into anything!"
"A rise of a shilling or so won't make much difference, and theywill go away thinking they've gained their point."
"That's the very thing I object to. They'll think so, and wheneverthey've a point to gain, no matter how unreasonable, they'll strikework."
"It really injures them more than us."
"I don't see how our interests can be separated."
"The d--d brute had thrown vitriol on the poor fellow's ankles, andyou know what a bad part that is to heal. He had to stand stillwith the pain, and that left him at the mercy of the cruel wretch,who beat him about the head till you'd hardly have known he was aman. They doubt if he'll live."
"If it were only for that, I'll stand out against them, even if itis the cause of my ruin."
"Ay, I for one won't yield one farthing to the cruel brutes; they'remore like wild beasts than human beings."
(Well, who might have made them different?)
"I say, Carson, just go and tell Duncombe of this fresh instance oftheir abominable conduct. He's wavering, but I think this willdecide him."
The door was now opened, and the waiter announced that the men werebelow, and asked if it were the pleasure of the gentlemen that theyshould be shown up.
They assented, and rapidly took their places round the officialtable; looking, as like as they could, to the Roman senators whoawaited the irruption of Brennus and his Gauls.
Tramp, tramp, came the heavy clogged feet up the stairs; and in aminute five wild, earnest-looking men stood in the room. JohnBarton, from some mistake as to time, was not among them. Had theybeen larger-boned men, you would have called them gaunt; as it was,they were little of stature, and their fustian clothes hung looselyupon their shrunk limbs. In choosing their delegates, too, theoperatives had had more regard to their brains, and power of speech,than to their wardrobes; they might have read the opinions of thatworthy Professor Teufelsdreck, in Sartor Resartus, to judge from thedilapidated coats and trousers, which yet clothed men of parts andof power. It was long since many of them had known the luxury of anew article of dress; and air-gaps were to be seen in theirgarments. Some of the masters were rather affronted at such aragged detachment coming between the wind and their nobility; butwhat cared they.
At the request of a gentleman hastily chosen to officiate aschairman, the leader of the delegates read, in a high-pitched,psalm-singing voice, a paper, containing the operatives' statementof the case at issue, their complaints, and their demands, whichlast were not remarkable for moderation.
He was then desired to withdraw for a few minutes, with hisfellow-delegates, to another room, while the masters considered whatshould be their definite answer.
When the men had left the room, a whispered earnest consultationtook place, every one re-urging his former arguments. The concederscarried the day, but only by a majority of one. The minorityhaughtily and audibly expressed their dissent from the measures tobe adopted, even after the delegates re-entered the room; theirwords and looks did not pass unheeded by the quick-eyed operatives;their names were registered in bitter hearts.
The masters could not consent to the advance demanded by theworkmen. They would agree to give one shilling per week more thanthey had previously offered. Were the delegates empowered to acceptsuch offer?
They were empowered to accept or decline any offer made that day bythe masters.
Then it might be as well for them to consult among themselves as towhat should be their decision. They again withdrew.
It was not for long. They came back, and positively declined anycompromise of their demands.
Then up sprang Mr. Henry Carson, the head and voice of the violentparty among the masters, and addressing the chairman, even beforethe scowling operatives, he proposed some resolutions, which he, andthose who agreed with him, had been concocting during this lastabsence of the deputation.
They were, firstly, withdrawing the proposal just made, anddeclaring all communication between the masters and that particularTrades' Union at an end; secondly, declaring that no master wouldemploy any workman in future, unless he signed a declaration that hedid not belong to any Trades' Union, and pledged himself not toassist or subscribe to any society, having for its objectinterference with the masters' powers; and, thirdly, that themasters should pledge themselves to protect and encourage allworkmen willing to accept employment on those conditions, and at therate of wages first offered. Considering that the men who now stoodlistening with lowering brows of defiance were all of them leadingmembers of the Union, such resolutions were in themselvessufficiently provocative of animosity: but not content with simplystating them, Harry Carson went on to characterise the conduct ofthe workmen in no measured terms; every word he spoke renderingtheir looks more livid, their glaring eyes more fierce. One amongthem would have spoken, but checked himself, in obedience to thestern glance and pressure on his arm, received from the l
eader. Mr.Carson sat down, and a friend instantly got up to second the motion.It was carried, but far from unanimously. The chairman announced itto the delegates (who had been once more turned out of the room fora division). They received it with deep brooding silence, but spakenever a word, and left the room without even a bow.
Now there had been some by-play at this meeting, not recorded in theManchester newspapers, which gave an account of the more regularpart of the transaction.
While the men had stood grouped near the door, on their firstentrance, Mr. Harry Carson had taken out his silver pencil, and haddrawn an admirable caricature of them--lank, ragged, dispirited, andfamine-stricken. Underneath he wrote a hasty quotation from the fatknight's well-known speech in Henry IV. He passed it to one of hisneighbours, who acknowledged the likeness instantly, and by him itwas sent round to others, who all smiled and nodded their heads.When it came back to its owner he tore the back of the letter onwhich it was drawn in two, twisted them up, and flung them into thefireplace; but, careless whether they reached their aim or not, hedid not look to see that they fell just short of any consumingcinders.
This proceeding was closely observed by one of the men.
He watched the masters as they left the hotel (laughing, some ofthem were, at passing jokes), and when all had gone, he re-entered.He went to the waiter, who recognised him.
"There's a bit on a picture up yonder, as one o' the gentlemen threwaway; I've a little lad at home as dearly loves a picture; by yourleave I'll go up for it."
The waiter, good-natured and sympathetic, accompanied him upstairs;saw the paper picked up and untwisted, and then being convinced, bya hasty glance at its contents, that it was only what the man hadcalled it, "a bit of a picture," he allowed him to bear away hisprize.
Towards seven o'clock that evening, many operatives began toassemble in a room in the Weavers' Arms public-house, a roomappropriated for "festive occasions," as the landlord, in hiscircular, on opening the premises, had described it. But, alas! itwas on no festive occasion that they met there this night. Starved,irritated, despairing men, they were assembling to hear the answerthat morning given by the masters to their delegates; after which,as was stated in the notice, a gentleman from London would have thehonour of addressing the meeting on the present state of affairsbetween the employers and the employed, or (as he chose to termthem) the idle and the industrious classes. The room was not large,but its bareness of furniture made it appear so. Unshaded gasflared down upon the lean and unwashed artisans as they entered,their eyes blinking at the excess of light.
They took their seats on benches, and awaited the deputation. Thelatter, gloomily and ferociously, delivered the masters' ultimatum,adding thereto not one word of their own; and it sank all the deeperinto the sore hearts of the listeners for their forbearance.
Then the "gentleman from London" (who had been previously informedof the masters' decision) entered. You would have been puzzled todefine his exact position, or what was the state of his mind asregarded education. He looked so self-conscious, so far fromearnest, among the group of eager, fierce, absorbed men, among whomhe now stood. He might have been a disgraced medical student of theBob Sawyer class, or an unsuccessful actor, or a flashy shopman.The impression he would have given you would have been unfavourable,and yet there was much about him that could only be characterised asdoubtful.
He smirked in acknowledgment of their uncouth greetings, and satdown; then glancing round, he inquired whether it would not beagreeable to the gentlemen present to have pipes and liquor handedround, adding, that he would stand treat.
As the man who has had his taste educated to love reading, fallsdevouringly upon books after a long abstinence, so these poorfellows, whose tastes had been left to educate themselves into aliking for tobacco, beer, and similar gratifications, gleamed up atthe proposal of the London delegate. Tobacco and drink deaden thepangs of hunger, and make one forget the miserable home, thedesolate future.
They were now ready to listen to him with approbation. He felt it;and rising like a great orator, with his right arm outstretched, hisleft in the breast of his waistcoat, he began to declaim, with aforced theatrical voice.
After a burst of eloquence, in which he blended the deeds of theelder and the younger Brutus, and magnified the resistless might ofthe "millions of Manchester," the Londoner descended tomatter-of-fact business, and in his capacity this way he did notbelie the good judgment of those who had sent him as a delegate.Masses of people, when left to their own free choice, seem to havediscretion in distinguishing men of natural talent: it is a pitythey so little regard temper and principles. He rapidly dictatedresolutions, and suggested measures. He wrote out a stirringplacard for the walls. He proposed sending delegates to entreat theassistance of other Trades' Unions in other towns. He headed thelist of subscribing Unions, by a liberal donation from that withwhich he was especially connected in London and what was more, andmore uncommon, he paid down the money in real, clinking, blinking,golden sovereigns! The money, alas! was cravingly required; butbefore alleviating any private necessities on the morrow, small sumswere handed to each of the delegates, who were in a day or two toset out on their expeditions to Glasgow, Newcastle, Nottingham, etc.These men were most of them members of the deputation who had thatmorning waited upon the masters. After he had drawn up someletters, and spoken a few more stirring words, the gentleman fromLondon withdrew, previously shaking hands all round; and manyspeedily followed him out of the room, and out of the house.
The newly-appointed delegates, and one or two others, remainedbehind to talk over their respective missions, and to give andexchange opinions in more homely and natural language than theydared to use before the London orator.
"He's a rare chap, yon," began one, indicating the departed delegateby a jerk of his thumb towards the door. "He's getten the gift ofthe gab, anyhow!"
"Ay! ay! he knows what he's about. See how he poured it into usabout that there Brutus. He were pretty hard, too, to kill his ownson!"
"I could kill mine if he took part with the masters; to be sure,he's but a step-son, but that makes no odds," said another.
But now tongues were hushed, and all eyes were directed towards themember of the deputation who had that morning returned to the hotelto obtain possession of Harry Carson's clever caricature of theoperatives.
The heads clustered together, to gaze at and detect the likenesses.
"That's John Slater! I'd ha' known him anywhere, by his big nose.Lord! how like; that's me, by G-d, it's the very way I'm obligatedto pin my waistcoat up, to hide that I've getten no shirt. That ISa shame, and I'll not stand it."
"Well!" said John Slater, after having acknowledged his nose and hislikeness; "I could laugh at a jest as well as e'er the best on 'em,though it did tell agen mysel, if I were not clemming" (his eyesfilled with tears; he was a poor, pinched, sharp-featured man, witha gentle and melancholy expression of countenance), "and if I couldkeep from thinking of them at home, as is clemming; but with theircries for food ringing in my ears, and making me afeard of goinghome, and wonder if I should hear 'em wailing out, if I lay cold anddrowned at th' bottom o' th' canal, there--why, man, I cannot laughat aught. It seems to make me sad that there is any as can makegame on what they've never knowed; as can make such laughablepictures on men, whose very hearts within 'em are so raw and sore asours were and are, God help us."
John Barton began to speak; they turned to him with great attention."It makes me more than sad, it makes my heart burn within me, to seethat folk can make a jest of striving men; of chaps who comed to askfor a bit o' fire for th' old granny, as shivers i' th' cold; for abit o' bedding, and some warm clothing to the poor wife who lies inlabour on th' damp flags; and for victuals for the childer, whoselittle voices are getting too faint and weak to cry aloud wi'hunger. For, brothers, is not them the things we ask for when weask for more wage? We donnot want dainties, we want bellyfuls; wedonnot want gimcrack coats and waistcoats, we want warm cl
othes; andso that we get 'em, we'd not quarrel wi' what they're made on. Wedonnot want their grand houses, we want a roof to cover us from therain, and the snow, and the storm; ay, and not alone to cover us,but the helpless ones that cling to us in the keen wind, and ask uswith their eyes why we brought 'em into th' world to suffer?"
He lowered his deep voice almost to a whisper--
"I've seen a father who had killed his child rather than let it clembefore his eyes; and he were a tender-hearted man."
He began again in his usual tone. "We come to th' masters wi' fullhearts, to ask for them things I named afore. We know that they'vegetten money, as we've earned for 'em; we know trade is mending, andthey've large orders, for which they'll be well paid; we ask for ourshare o' th' payment; for, say we, if th' masters get our share ofpayment it will only go to keep servants and horses--to more dressand pomp. Well and good, if yo choose to be fools we'll not hinderyou, so long as you're just; but our share we must and will have;we'll not be cheated. We want it for daily bread, for life itself;and not for our own lives neither (for there's many a one here, Iknow by mysel, as would be glad and thankful to lie down and die outo' this weary world), but for the lives of them little ones, whodon't yet know what life is, and are afeard of death. Well, we comebefore th' masters to state what we want, and what we must have,afore we'll set shoulder to their work; and they say, 'No.' Onewould think that would be enough of hard-heartedness, but it isn't.They go and make jesting pictures on us! I could laugh at mysel, aswell as poor John Slater there; but then I must be easy in my mindto laugh. Now I only know that I would give the last drop of myblood to avenge us on yon chap, who had so little feeling in him asto make game on earnest, suffering men!"
A low angry murmur was heard among the men, but it did not yet takeform or words. John continued--
"You'll wonder, chaps, how I came to miss the time this morning;I'll just tell you what I was a-doing. Th' chaplain at the NewBailey sent and gived me an order to see Jonas Higginbotham; him aswas taken up last week for throwing vitriol in a knob-stick's face.Well, I couldn't help but go; and I didn't reckon it would ha' keptme so late. Jonas were like one crazy when I got to him; he said hecould na get rest night or day for th' face of the poor fellow hehad damaged; then he thought on his weak, clemmed look, as hetramped, footsore, into town; and Jonas thought, maybe, he had leftthem at home as would look for news, and hope and get none, but,haply, tidings of his death. Well, Jonas had thought on thesethings till he could not rest, but walked up and down continuallylike a wild beast in his cage. At last he bethought him on a way tohelp a bit, and he got the chaplain to send for me; and he telled methis; and that th' man were lying in the Infirmary, and he bade mego (to-day's the day as folk may be admitted into th' Infirmary) andget his silver watch, as was his mother's, and sell it as well as Icould, and take the money, and bid the poor knob-stick send it tohis friends beyond Burnley; and I were to take him Jonas's kindregards, and he humbly axed him to forgive him. So I did what Jonaswished. But, bless your life, none on us would ever throw vitriolagain (at least at a knob-stick) if they could see the sight I sawto-day. The man lay, his face all wrapped in cloths, so I didn'tsee that: but not a limb, nor a bit of a limb, could keep fromquivering with pain. He would ha' bitten his hand to keep down hismoans, but couldn't, his face hurt him so if he moved it e'er solittle. He could scarce mind me when I telled him about Jonas; hedid squeeze my hand when I jingled the money, but when I axed hiswife's name, he shrieked out, 'Mary, Mary, shall I never see youagain? Mary, my darling, they've made me blind because I wanted towork for you and our own baby; O Mary, Mary!' Then the nurse came,and said he were raving, and that I had made him worse. And I'mafeard it was true; yet I were loth to go without knowing where tosend the money. . . . . So that kept me beyond my time, chaps."
"Did you hear where the wife lived at last?" asked many anxiousvoices.
"No! he went on talking to her, till his words cut my heart like aknife. I axed th' nurse to find out who she was, and where shelived. But what I'm more especial naming it now for is this,--forone thing I wanted you all to know why I weren't at my post thismorning; for another, I wish to say, that I, for one, ha' seenenough of what comes of attacking knob-sticks, and I'll ha' noughtto do with it no more."
There were some expressions of disapprobation, but John did not mindthem.
"Nay! I'm no coward," he replied, "and I'm true to th' backbone.What I would like, and what I would do, would be to fight themasters. There's one among yo called me a coward. Well! every manhas a right to his opinion but since I've thought on th' matterto-day I've thought we han all on us been more like cowards inattacking the poor like ourselves; them as has none to help, but munchoose between vitriol and starvation. I say we're more cowardly indoing that than in leaving them alone. No! what I would do is this.Have at the masters!" Again he shouted, "Have at the masters!" Hespoke lower; all listened with hushed breath--
"It's the masters as has wrought this woe; it's the masters asshould pay for it. Him as called me coward just now, may try if Iam one or not. Set me to serve out the masters, and see if there'saught I'll stick at."
"It would give the masters a bit on a fright if one of them werebeaten within an inch of his life," said one.
"Ay! or beaten till no life were left in him," growled another.
And so with words, or looks that told more than words, they built upa deadly plan. Deeper and darker grew the import of their speeches,as they stood hoarsely muttering their meaning out, and glaring witheyes that told the terror their own thoughts were to them, upontheir neighbours. Their clenched fists, their set teeth, theirlivid looks, all told the suffering which their minds werevoluntarily undergoing in the contemplation of crime, and infamiliarising themselves with its details.
Then came one of those fierce terrible oaths which bind members ofTrades' Unions to any given purpose. Then under the flaringgaslight, they met together to consult further. With the distrustof guilt, each was suspicious of his neighbour; each dreaded thetreachery of another. A number of pieces of paper (the identicalletter on which the caricature had been drawn that very morning)were torn up, and one was marked. Then all were folded up again,looking exactly alike. They were shuffled together in a hat. Thegas was extinguished; each drew out a paper. The gas wasre-lighted. Then each went as far as he could from his fellows, andexamined the paper he had drawn without saying a word, and with acountenance as stony and immovable as he could make it.
Then, still rigidly silent, they each took up their hats and wentevery one his own way.
He who had drawn the marked paper had drawn the lot of the assassin!and he had sworn to act according to his drawing! But no one, saveGod and his own conscience, knew who was the appointed murderer.
Mary Barton Page 17