Facing Death; Or, The Hero of the Vaughan Pit: A Tale of the Coal Mines

by G. A. Henty

  CHAPTER IX.

  THE GREAT STRIKE.

  It was Saturday afternoon, a time at which Stokebridge was generallylively. The men, (dinner over, and the great weekly wash done,) usuallycrowded the public-houses, or played bowls and quoits on a piece ofwaste land known as "the common," or set off upon a spree to Birminghamor Wolverhampton, or sat on low walls or other handy seats, and smokedand talked. But upon this special Saturday afternoon no one settled downto his ordinary pursuits, for the men stood talking in groups in thestreet, until, as the hour of four approached, there was a general movetowards the common. Hither, too, came numbers of men from the collieryvillages round, until some four or five thousand were gathered in frontof an old "waste tip" at one corner of the common. Presently a group ofsome five or six men came up together, made their way through thethrong, and took their stand on the edge of the tip, some twenty feetabove the crowd. These were the delegates, the men sent by the union topersuade the colliers of Stokebridge and its neighbourhood to join in ageneral strike for a rise of wages.

  The women of the village stand at their doors, and watch the men go offto the meeting, and then comment to each other concerning it.

  "I ain't no patience wi' 'em, Mrs. Haden," said one of a group ofneighbours who had gathered in front of her house; "I don't hold bystrikes. I have gone through three of 'em, bad un's, besides a score ofsmall un's, and I never knowed good come on 'em. I lost my little Peg inthe last--low fever, the doctor called it, but it was starvation andnothing more."

  "If I had my way," said Mrs. Haden, "I'd just wring the heads off theydelegates. They come here and 'suades our men to go out and clem ratherthan take a shilling a week less, just a glass o' beer a day, and theygets their pay and lives in comfort, and dunna care nowt if us and th'childer all dies off together."

  "Talk o' woman's rights, as one hears about, and woman's having a vote;we ought to have a vote as to strikes. It's us as bears the worse o't,and we ought to have a say on't; if we did there wouldn't be anotherstrike in the country."

  "It's a burning shame," another chimed in; "here us and the childer willhave to starve for weeks, months may be, and all the homes will be brokeup, and the furniture, which has took so long to get together, putaway, just because the men won't do with one glass of beer less a day."

  "The union's the curse of us a'," Mrs. Haden said. "I know what it'llbe--fifteen bob a week for the first fortnight, and then twelve for aweek, and then ten, and then eight, and then six, and then after we'veclemmed on that for a month or two, the union'll say as the funds isdry, and the men had best go to work on the reduction. I knows theirways, and they're a cuss to us women."

  "Here be'st thy Jack. He grows a proper lad that."

  "Ay," Jane Haden agreed, "he's a good lad, none better; and as forlearning, the books that boy knows is awesome; there's shelves uponshelves on 'em upstairs, and I do believe he's read 'em all a dozentimes. Well, Jack, have ee cum from meeting?"

  "Ay, mother; I heard them talk nonsense till I was nigh sick, and then Icomed away."

  "And will they go for the strike, Jack?"

  "Ay, they'll go, like sheep through a gate. There's half a dozen or sowould go t'other way, but the rest won't listen to them. So for the sakeof a shilling a week we're going to lose thirty shillings a week forperhaps twenty weeks; so if we win we sha'n't get the money we'vethrow'd away for twenty times thirty weeks, mother, and that makeseleven years and twenty-eight weeks."

  Jack Simpson was now sixteen years old, not very tall for his age, butsquare and set. His face was a pleasant one, in spite of his closelycropped hair. He had a bright fearless eye and a pleasant smile; but thesquare chin, and the firm determined lines of the mouth when in rest,showed that his old appellation of Bull-dog still suited him well. Afterworking for four years as a gate-boy and two years with the waggons, hehad just gone in to work with his adopted father in the stall, fillingthe coal in the waggon as it was got down, helping to drive the wedges,and at times to use the pick. As the getters--as the colliers working atbringing down the coal are called--are paid by the ton, many of the menhave a strong lad working with them as assistant.

  "Is t' dad like to be at home soon, Jack?" Mrs. Haden asked, as shefollowed him into the house.

  "Not he, mother. They pretty well all will be getting themselves inorder for earning nothing by getting drunk to-night, and dad's not slackat that. Have you got tea ready, mother?"

  "Ay, lad."

  "I've made up my mind, mother," the boy said, as he ate his slice ofbacon and bread, "that I shall go over to Birmingham to-morrow, and tryto get work there. John Ratcliffe, the engineman, is going to write aletter for me to some mates of his there. The last two years, when I'vebeen on the night-shift, I have gone in and helped him a bit prettyoften in the day, so as to get to know something about an engine, andto be able to do a job of smith's work; anyhow, he thinks I can get aberth as a striker or something of that sort. I'd rather go at once, forthere will be plenty of hands looking out for a job before long, whenthe pinch begins, and I don't want to be idle here at home."

  "They've promised to give some sort o' allowance to non-unionists,Jack."

  "Yes, mother, but I'd rather earn it honestly. I'm too young to join theunion yet, but I have made up my mind long ago never to do it. I mean tobe my own master, and I ain't going to be told by a pack of fellows atStafford or Birmingham whether I am to work or not, and how much I am todo, and how many tubs I am to fill. No, mother, I wasn't born a slavethat I know of, and certainly don't mean to become one voluntarily."

  "Lor, how thou dost talk, Jack! Who'd take 'ee to be a pitman?"

  "I don't want to be taken for anything that I am not, mother. What withreading and with going two hours twice a week of an evening for sixyears, to talk and work with Mr. Merton, I hope I can express myselfproperly when I choose. As you know, when I'm away from you I talk asothers do, for I hate any one to make remarks. If the time ever comeswhen I am to take a step up, it will be time enough for them to talk; atpresent, all that the other lads think of me is, that I am fond ofreading, and that I can lick any fellow of my own age in the mine," andhe laughed lightly. "And now, mother, I shall go in and tell Mr. Mertonwhat I have made up my mind to do."

  Mr. Merton listened to Jack's report of his plans in silence, and thenafter a long pause said:

  "I have been for some time intending to talk seriously to you, Jack,about your future, and the present is a good time for broaching thesubject. You see, my boy, you have worked very hard, and have thrownyour whole strength into it for six years. You have given no time to theclassics or modern languages, but have put your whole heart intomathematics; you have a natural talent for it, and you have had theadvantage of a good teacher. I may say so," he said, "for I was thirdwrangler at Cambridge."

  "You, sir!" Jack exclaimed in astonishment.

  "Yes, lad, you may well be surprised at seeing a third wrangler avillage schoolmaster, but you might find, if you searched, many men whotook as high a degree, in even more humble positions. I took afellowship, and lived for many years quietly upon it; then I married,and forfeited my fellowship. I thought, like many other men, thatbecause I had taken a good degree I could earn my living. There is nogreater mistake. I had absolutely no knowledge that was useful that way.I tried to write; I tried to get pupils: I failed all round. Thirteenyears ago, after two years of marriage, my wife died; and in despair ofotherwise earning my bread, and sick of the struggle I had gonethrough, I applied for this little mastership, obtained it, and camedown with Alice, then a baby of a year old. I chafed at first, but I amcontented now, and no one knows that Mr. Merton is an ex-fellow of St.John's. I had still a little property remaining, just enough to havekept Alice always at a good school. I do not think I shall stay heremuch longer. I shall try to get a larger school, in some town where Imay find a few young men to teach of an evening. I am content formyself; but Alice is growing up, and I should wish, for her sake, to geta step up in the world again. I need not say, my lad,
that I don't wantthis mentioned. Alice and you alone know my story. So you see," he wenton more lightly, "I may say you have had a good teacher. Now, Jack, youare very high up in mathematics. Far higher than I was at your age; andI have not the slightest doubt that you will in a couple of years beable to take the best open scholarship of the year at Cambridge, if youtry for it. That would keep you at college, and you might hopeconfidently to come out at least as high as I did, and to secure afellowship, which means three or four hundred a year, till you marry.But to go through the university you must have a certain amount of Latinand Greek. You have a good two years, before you have to go up, and ifyou devote yourself as steadily to classics as you have to mathematics,you could get up enough to scrape through with. Don't give me any answernow, Jack. The idea is, of course, new to you. Think it very quietlyover, and we can talk about it next time you come over from Birmingham."

  "Yes, sir, thank you very much," Jack said, quietly; "only, please tellme, do you yourself recommend it?"

  The schoolmaster was silent for a while.

  "I do not recommend one way or the other, Jack. I would rather leave itentirely to you. You would be certain to do well in one way there. Youare, I believe, equally certain to do well here, but your advance may bevery much slower. And now, Jack, let us lay it aside for to-night. I amjust going to have tea, I hope you will take a cup with us."

  Jack coloured with pleasure. It was the first time that such aninvitation had been given to him, and he felt it as the firstrecognition yet made that he was something more than an ordinarypit-boy; but for all that he felt, when he followed his master into thenext room, that he would have rather been anywhere else.

  It was a tiny room, but daintily furnished--a room such as Jack hadnever seen before; and by the fire sat a girl reading. She put down herbook as her father entered with a bright smile; but her eyes opened alittle wider in surprise as Jack followed him in.

  "My dear Alice, this is my pupil, Jack Simpson, who is going to do megreat credit, and make a figure in the world some day. Jack, this is mydaughter, Miss Merton."

  Alice held out her hand.

  "I have heard papa speak of you so often," she said, "and of course Ihave seen you come in and out sometimes when I have been home for theholidays."

  "I have seen you in church," Jack said, making a tremendous effort toshake off his awkwardness.

  Jack Simpson will to the end of his life look back upon that hour as themost uncomfortable he ever spent. Then for the first time he discoveredthat his boots were very heavy and thick; then for the first time didhis hands and feet seem to get in his way, and to require thought as towhat was to be done with them; and at the time he concluded that whitelace curtains, and a pretty carpet, and tea poured out by a chatty anddecidedly pretty young lady, were by no means such comfortableinstitutions as might have been expected.

  It was two months from the commencement of the strike before JackSimpson returned from Birmingham, coming home to stay from Saturday tillMonday. Nothing can be more discouraging than the appearance of acolliery village where the hands are on strike. For the first week ortwo there is much bravado, and anticipation of early victory; and asmoney is still plentiful, the public-houses do a great trade. But as thestern reality of the struggle becomes felt, a gloom falls over theplace. The men hang about listlessly, and from time to time straggledown to the committee-room, to hear the last news from the other placesto which the strike extends, and to try to gather a little confidencetherefrom. At first things always look well. Meetings are held in othercentres, and promises of support flow in. For a time money arrivesfreely, and the union committee make an allowance to each member, which,far below his regular pay as it is, is still amply sufficient for hisabsolute wants. But by the end of two months the enthusiasm which thestrike excited elsewhere dies out, the levies fall off, and the weeklymoney scarce enables life to be kept together.

  It is distinctive of almost all strikes, that the women, beforehandaverse to the movement, when it has once begun, throw themselvesheartily into the struggle. From the time it is fairly entered uponuntil its termination it is rare indeed to hear a collier's wife speak aword against it. When the hardest pinch comes, and the children's facesgrow thin and white, and the rooms are stripped of furniture, much asthe women may long for an end of it, they never grumble, never praytheir husbands to give in. This patient submission to their husbands'wills--this silent bearing of the greatest of suffering, namely, to seechildren suffer and to be unable to relieve them--is one of the mostmarked features of all great strikes in the coal districts.

  "Well, mother, and how goes it?" Jack asked cheerfully after the firstgreetings.

  "We be all right, Jack; if we ain't we ought to be, when we've got nochildren to keep, and get nigh as much as them as has."

  "Eight shillings a week now, ain't it?"

  Mrs. Haden nodded. Jack looked round.

  "Holloa!" he said, "the clock's gone, and the new carpet!"

  "Well, you see, my boy," Mrs. Haden said, hesitatingly, "Bill isdown-hearted sometimes, and he wants a drop of comfort."

  "I understand," Jack said significantly.

  "Jack,"--and she again spoke hesitatingly--"I wish ee'd carry off allthey books out o' thy little room. There's scores of 'em, and thesmallest would fetch a glass o' beer. I've kept the door locked, but itmight tempt him, my boy--not when he's in his right senses, you know,he'd scorn to do such a thing; but when he gets half on, and has no moremoney, and credit stopped, the craving's too much for him, and he'd sellthe bed from under him--anything he's got, I do believe, except hispups;" and she pointed to some of Juno's great grandchildren, whichwere, as usual, lying before the fire, a mere handful of coal now, incomparison with past times.

  "I'll pick out a parcel of them that will be useful to me," Jack said,"and take them away. The rest may go. And now look here, mother. Afterpaying you for my board, I have had for a long time now some eightshillings a week over. I have spent some in books, but second-hand booksare very cheap--as dad will find when he tries to sell them. So I'vegot some money put by. It don't matter how much, but plenty to keep thewolf away while the strike lasts. But I don't mean, mother, to have mysavings drunk away. I'm getting sixteen bob a week, and I can live onten or eleven, so I'll send you five shillings a week. But dad mustn'tknow it. I'll be home in a month again, and I'll leave you a pound, sothat you can get food in. If he thinks about it at all, which ain'tlikely, you can make out you get it on tick. Well, dad, how are you?" heasked, as Bill Haden entered the cottage.

  "Ah, Jack, lad, how be it with 'ee?"

  "All right, dad; getting on well. And how are things here?"

  "Bad, Jack. Those scoundrels, the masters, they won't give in; but we'rebound to beat 'em--bound to. If they don't come to our terms we mean tocall the engine-men, and the hands they've got to keep the ways clear,out of the pits. That'll bring 'em to their senses quick enough. I'vebeen for it all along."

  "Call off the engine-hands!" Jack said, in tones of alarm; "you ain'tgoing to do such a mad thing as that! Why, if the water gains, and themines get flooded, it'll be weeks, and maybe months, before the minescan be cleared and put in working order; and what will you all be doingwhile that's being done?"

  "It'll bring 'em to their senses, lad," Bill Haden said, bringing hishand down on the table with a thump. "They mean to starve us; we'll ruinthem. There, let's have the price of a quart, Jack; I'm dry."

  Jack saw that argument against this mad scheme would be of no use, forhis foster-father was already half-drunk, so he handed him a shilling,and with a shrug of his shoulders walked off to Mr. Merton's.

  He had long since written to his master, saying that he preferredworking his way up slowly in mining, to entering upon a new life, inwhich, however successful he might be at college, the after course wasnot clear to him; and his teacher had answered in a tone of approval ofhis choice.

  On his way he stopped at the houses of many of his boy friends, and wasshocked at the misery which already
prevailed in some of them. HarryShepherd's home was no better than the others.

  "Why, Harry, I should scarce have known you," he said, as the lad cameto the door when he opened it and called him. "You look bad, surely."

  "We're a big family, Jack; and the extra children's allowance wasdropped last week. There's eight of us, and food's scarce. LittleAnnie's going fast, I think. The doctor came this morning, and said shewanted strengthening food. He might as well ha' ordered her acoach-and-four. Baby died last week, and mother's ailing. You wereright, Jack; what fools we were to strike! I've been miles round lookingfor a job, but it's no use; there's fifty asking for every place open."

  The tears came into Jack's eyes as he looked at the pinched face of hisfriend.

  "Why did you not write to me?" he asked, almost angrily. "I told youwhere a letter would find me; and here are you all clemming, and me knownought of it. It's too bad. Now look here, Harry, I must lend you somemoney--you know I've got some put by, and you and your father can pay mewhen good times come again. Your dad gets his eight shillings from theunion, I suppose?"

  "Yes," the lad answered.

  "Well, with fifteen shillings a week you could make a shift to get on.So I'll send you ten shillings a week for a bit; that'll be sevenshillings to add to the eight, and the other three will get meat to makebroth for Annie. The strike can't last much over another month, and thatwon't hurt me one way or the other. Here's the first ten shillings; putit in your pocket, and then come round with me to the butcher and I'llget a few pounds of meat just to start you all. There, don't cry, anddon't say anything, else I'll lick you."

  But when Jack himself entered the schoolmaster's house, and was alonewith Mr. Merton, he threw himself in a chair and burst into tears.

  "It is awful, sir, awful. To see those little children, who were sonoisy and bright when I went away, so pale, and thin, and quiet now.Poor little things! poor little things! As to the men, they are starvingbecause they don't choose to work, and if they like it, let them; eventhe women I don't pity so much, for if they did right they would takebroomsticks and drive the men to work; but the children, it's dreadful!"

  "It is dreadful, Jack, and it makes me feel sick and ill when I go intothe infant-school. The clergyman's wife has opened a sort ofsoup-kitchen, and a hundred children get a bowl of soup and a piece ofbread at dinner-time every day, and they sell soup under cost price tothe women. Mr. Brook has given fifty pounds towards it."

  "Look here, sir," Jack said; "you know I've over fifty pounds laidby--and money can't be better spent than for the children. The strikecan't last over a month, or six weeks at the outside, and maybe notthat. I'll give you three pounds a week, if you will kindly hand it overto Mrs. Street, and say it's been sent you. But it's to go to feedingchildren. Let me see; the soup don't cost above a penny a bowl, and saya halfpenny for a hunch of bread. So that will give a good many of 'em adinner every day. Will you do that for me, sir?"

  "I will, my boy," Mr. Merton said heartily. "You may save many a younglife."

  "Well, sir, and what do you think of things?"

  "I fear we shall have trouble, Jack. Last night there was rioting overat Crawfurd; a manager's house was burnt down, and some policemen badlyhurt. There is angry talk all over the district, and I fear we shallhave it here."

  When Jack started on Sunday evening for Birmingham, his last words tohis mother were:

  "Mind, mother, the very first word you hear about violence or assault,you post this envelope I have directed, to me. I will come straightback. I'll keep father out of it somehow; and I'll do all I can to saveMr. Brook's property. He's a good master, and he's been specially kindto me, and I won't have him or his property injured."

  "Why, lauk a' mercy, Jack, you ain't going to fight the whole place allby yourself, are you?"

  "I don't know what I am going to do yet," Jack said; "but you may bequite sure I shall do something."

  And as his mother looked at the set bull-dog expression of his mouth andjaw, she felt that Jack was thoroughly in earnest.