CHAPTER TWELVE.
PANNELL'S SECRET.
Every day the works grew more busy, and prosperity seemed to be comingupon us like sunshine. The men worked steadily and well, and the oldopposition had apparently died out; but all the same the watching waskept up as regularly as if it was during war time, though, saving anoccasional burst of barking from Piter, who used to have these fitsapparently without cause, there was nothing to alarm the watchers.
It was my turn at home, and I was up early the next morning, wonderinghow Uncle Jack and Uncle Bob had got on during the night, when I camedown and found Mrs Stephenson and Martha the maid enjoying themselves.
Their way of enjoying themselves was peculiar, but that it afforded thempleasure there could be no doubt. It might have been considered areligious ceremony, but though there was a kind of worship or adorationabout it, there was nothing religious in the matter at all.
What they did was this:--To mix up a certain quantity of black-lead in alittle pie-dish, and then kneel down before a stove, and work and slaveat it till there was a tremendous gloss all over the iron.
In effecting this Mrs Stephenson used to get a little smudgy, butMartha seemed to have an itching nose which always itched most on theseoccasions, and as you watched her you saw her give six scrubs at thegrate with the front of the brush, and then one rub with the back on herface or nose.
This act must have been pleasant, for as she bent down and scrubbed shefrowned, as she sat up and rubbed her nose with the back of the brushshe smiled.
Now if Martha had confined her rubs to her nose it would not have muchmattered, but in rubbing her nose she also rubbed her cheeks, her chin,her forehead, and the consequence was a great waste of black-lead, andher personal appearance was not improved.
I was standing watching the black-leading business, an affection fromwhich most north-country people suffer very badly, when Uncle Jack camehurrying in, looking hot and excited. "Where's Dick?" he cried.
"In his room drawing plans," I cried. "What's the matter? Is Uncle Bobhurt?"
"No, not a bit!"
"Then Piter is?"
"No, no, no. Here, Dick!" he shouted up the stairs. There was a soundon the upper floor as if some one had just woke an elephant, and UncleDick came lumbering down.
"What's wrong?" he cried.
Uncle Jack glanced round and saw that Mrs Stephenson was looking upfrom where she knelt in the front room, with her eyes and mouth wideopen as the door, and Martha was slowly rubbing her nose with theblack-lead brush and waiting for him to speak.
"Put on your hat and come down to the works," he said.
We moved by one impulse into the passage, and as we reached the doorMrs Stephenson cried:
"Brackfass won't be long;" and then the sound of black-leading went on.
"Now, then," said Uncle Dick as we reached the street, "what is it?Anything very wrong?"
"Terribly," said Uncle Jack.
"Well, what is it? Why don't you speak?"
"Come and see for yourself," said Uncle Jack bitterly. "I thoughtmatters were smoothing down, but they are getting worse, and I feelsometimes that we might as well give up as carry on this unequal war."
"No: don't give up, Uncle Jack," I cried. "Let's fight the cowards."
"Bring them into the yard then so that we can fight them," he criedangrily. "The cowardly back-stabbers; sneaks in the dark. I couldn'thave believed that such things could go on in England."
"Well, but we had heard something about what the Arrowfield men coulddo, and we knew about how in the Lancashire district the work-peopleused to smash new machinery."
"There, wait till you've seen what has happened," cried Uncle Jackangrily. "You've just risen after a night's rest. I've come to youafter a night's watching, and you and I feel differently about the samething."
Very little more was said before we reached the works, where the firstthing I saw was a group of men round the gate, talking together withtheir hands in their pockets.
Gentles was among them, smoking a short black pipe, and he shut his eyesat me as we passed, which was his way of bestowing upon me a smile.
When we passed through the gate the men followed as if we were a set ofdoctors about to put something right for them, and as if they had beenwaiting for us to come.
Uncle Bob was standing by the door as we came across the yard, and assoon as we reached him he turned in and we followed.
There was no occasion for him to speak; he just walked along the greatworkshop, pointing to right and left, and we saw at once why the menwere idling about.
Few people who read this will have any difficulty in understanding whatwheel-bands are. They used to be very common in the streets, joiningthe wheels of the knife-grinders' barrows, and now in almost every housethey are seen in the domestic treadle sewing-machine. Similar to these,but varying in size, are the bands in a factory. They may be broad flatleather straps of great weight and size, formed by sewing many lengthstogether, or they may be string-like cords of twisted catgut. They allcome under the same name, and there were scores in our works connectingthe shaft wheels of the main shaft turned by the water-power with thegrindstones of the lower floor and the lathes and polishers of theupper. By these connections wheel, stone, and chuck were setspinning-round. Without them everything was at a stand-still.
As we walked down between the grindstones it was plain enough to see--every wheel-band had been cut.
It was the same upstairs--broad bands and cords all had been dividedwith a sharp knife, and Uncle Bob held a piece of whetstone in his handwhich had been thrown down by the door, evidently after being used bythe miscreant who had done this cowardly trick.
As we went upstairs and saw the mischief there the men followed us likea flock of sheep, waiting to see what we should do, for they wereperforce idle. Only the smiths could work, for by accident or oversightthe band which connected the shaft with the blowing apparatus hadescaped, and as we stood there by the office door we could hear the_clink clink_ of the hammers upon the anvils and the pleasant roar ofeach forge.
"Hallo! What's this?" cried Uncle Jack as he caught sight of somethingwhite on the office door, which proved to be a letter stuck on there bya common wooden-handled shoemakers' knife having been driven rightthrough it.
"I did not see that before," said Uncle Bob excitedly.
"No, because it was not there," said Uncle Jack. "I should have seen itif it had been there when I came out of the office first."
"And _I_ am sure that I should have seen it," said Uncle Bob.
The letter was opened and read by Uncle Jack, who passed it on to hisbrothers.
They read it in turn, and it was handed to me, when I read as follows:
"_This hear's the nif as coot them weel-bans. Stope makhin noo kine steel, or be strang and bad for wurks_."
"Come in the office and let's talk it over," said Uncle Bob. "This musthave been placed here by someone in the works."
"Yes," said Uncle Jack bitterly. "It is plain enough: the wheel-bandshave been cut by one of the men who get their living by us, and who takeour pay."
"And you see the scoundrel who wrote that letter threatens worsetreatment if we do not give up making the new silver steel."
"Yes," said Uncle Jack sternly as he turned to Uncle Dick; "what do youmean to do?"
"Begin a fresh batch to-day, and let the men know it is being done.Here, let's show them that we can be as obstinate as they." Then aloudas we approached the men where they had grouped together, talking aboutthe "cooten bands," as they termed it. "You go at once to themachinist's and get a couple of men sent on to repair such of thesebands as they can, and put new ones where they are shortened too much bythe mending."
Uncle Bob smiled at once.
"Look here," said Uncle Dick sharply, "some of you men can make shift bytying or binding your bands till they are properly done."
"Ay, mester," came in a growl, and shortly after the sound of steelbeing ground
upon the sharply-spinning stones was heard. An hour latera couple of men were fitting bands to some of the wheels, and mendingothers by lacing them together.
I was standing watching them as they fitted a new band to Gentles'wheel, while he stood with his bared arms folded, very eager to beginwork again.
"Ain't it a cruel shaame?" he whispered. "Here's me, a poor chap paidby the piece, and this morning half gone as you may say. This job's acouple o' loaves out o' my house."
He wiped a tear out of the corner of each half-closed eye as he staredat me in a miserable helpless kind of way, and somehow he made me feelso annoyed with him that I felt as if I should like to slap his fat faceand then kick him.
I went away very much exasperated and glad to get out of the reach oftemptation, leaving my uncles busily superintending the fitting of thebands, and helping where they could do anything to start a man on againwith his work. And all the time they seemed to make very light of thetrouble, caring for nothing but getting the men started again.
I went down into the smithy, where Pannell was at work, and as I enteredthe place he looked for a moment from the glowing steel he was hammeringinto a shape, to which it yielded as if it had been so much tough wax,and then went on again as if I had not been there.
His kitten was a little more friendly, though, for it ran from thebrickwork of the forge, leaped on to a bench behind me, and bounded fromthat on to my back, and crept to my shoulder, where it could rub itshead against my ear.
"Well, Pannell," I said, "you've heard about the cowardly trick done inthe shops?"
"Ay, I heered on't," he cried, as he battered away at the steel on hisanvil.
"Who did it?"
"Did it!" he cried, nipping the cherry-red steel in a fresh place andthrusting it back in the fire. "Don't they know? Didn't they hear inthe night?"
"No," I said; "they heard nothing, not a sound. The dog did not evenbark, they say."
"Would he bite a man hard?"
"He'd almost eat a man if he attacked him."
"Ay, he looks it," said Pannell, patting the black coal-dust down over aglowing spot.
"Well, who do you think did it?" I said.
"Someone as come over the wall, I s'pose; but you'd better not talkabout it."
"But I like to talk about it," I said. "Oh, I should like to find outwho it was! It was someone here."
"Here!" he cried, whisking out the steel.
"Yes, the sneaking, blackguardly, cowardly hound!" I cried.
"Hush!" he whispered sharply; "some one may hear again."
I stared at the great swarthy fellow, for he looked sallow and seared,and it seemed, so strange to me that, while I only felt annoyance, heshould be alarmed.
"Why, Pannell," I cried, "what's the matter?"
"Best keep a still tongue," he said in a whisper. "You never know whomay hear you."
"I don't care who hears me. It was a coward and a scoundrel who cut ourbands, and I should like to tell him so to his face."
"Howd thee tongue, I say," he cried, hammering away at his anvil, todrown my words in noise. "What did I tell thee?"
"That some one might hear me. Well, let him. Why, Pannell, you look asif you had done it yourself. It wasn't you, was it?"
He turned upon me quite fiercely, hammer in hand, making me think aboutWat Tyler and the tax-gatherer; but he did not strike me: he brought hishammer down upon the anvil with a loud clang.
"Nay," he said; "I nivver touched no bands. It warn't my wuck."
"Well, I never thought it was," I said. "You don't look the sort of manwho would be a coward."
"Oh, that's what you think, is it, lad?"
"Yes," I said, seating myself on the bench and stroking the kitten. "Ablacksmith always seems to me to be a bold manly straightforward man,who would fight his enemy fairly face to face, and not go in the darkand stab him."
"Ah!" he said; "but I arn't a blacksmith, I'm a white-smith, and work insteel."
"It's much the same," I said thoughtfully; and then, looking him full inthe face: "No, Pannell, I don't think you cut the bands, but I feelpretty sure you know who did."
The man's jaw dropped, and he looked quite paralysed for a moment ortwo. Then half recovering himself he plunged his tongs into the fire,pulled out a sputtering white piece of glowing steel, gave it hisregular whirl through the air like a firework, and, instead of bangingit on to the anvil, plunged it with a fierce toss into the ironwater-trough, and quenched it.
"Why, Pannell!" I cried, "what made you do that?"
He scratched his head with the hand that held the hammer, and stared atme for a few moments, and then down at the black steel that he had takendripping from the trough.
"Dunno," he said hoarsely, "dunno, lad."
"I do," I said to myself as I set down the kitten and went back to joinmy uncles, who were in consultation in the office.
They stopped short as I entered, and Uncle Bob turned to me. "Well,Philosopher Cob," he said, "what do you say? Who did this cowardlyact--was it someone in the neighbourhood, or one of our own men?"
"Yes, who was it?" said Uncle Dick.
"We are all divided in our opinions," said Uncle Jack.
"One of our own men," I said; "and Pannell the smith knows who it was."
"And will he tell?"
"No. I think the men are like schoolboys in that. No one would speakfor fear of being thought a sneak."
"Yes," said Uncle Dick, "and not only that; in these trades-unions themen are all bound together, as it were, and the one who betrayed theothers' secrets would be in peril of his life."
"How are we to find out who is the scoundrel?" I said.
Uncle Dick shook his head, and did what he always found to be the mostsatisfactory thing in these cases, set to work as hard as he could, andUncles Jack and Bob followed his example.
Patience Wins: War in the Works Page 12