“Then why, Mr. Bell, have not such representations been made to the legislature as must ensure its immediate adoption?”
The good clergyman shook his head. “It is a most natural, question, my dear young friend — allow me so to call you. All are my friends who feel upon this subject as you appear to do. It is a most natural and a most obvious question. Yet would my reply be any thing rather than easy of comprehension were I to attempt to answer it directly. I sincerely hope I shall converse with you again on this subject. Documents are not wanting, my dear Miss Brotherton, to prove that all, or nearly all, that private individuals can do, in the way of petition and remonstrance, has been already tried; nor are we yet without hope that good may come of it. But it must be long, and perhaps the longer the better, ere your young head and innocent heart, can conceive our difficulties. You would hardly believe the ingenious devices to which frightened avarice can have recourse in order to retard, mutilate, and render abortive a measure having for its object a reduction of profits, with no equivalent save the beholding smiles instead of tears, and hearing the sounds of song and laughter instead of groans!”
“But while you are still waiting and hoping for this aid from our lawgivers,” said Mary, “is there nothing that can be done in the interval to help all this misery, Mr. Bell?”
“Nothing effectual, my dear young lady,” he replied mournfully. “I may, with no dishonest boasting say, that my life is spent in doing all I can to save these unhappy people from utter degradation and despair. But the oppression under which they groan is too overwhelming to be removed, or even lightened, by any agency less powerful than that of the law. Nothing, in fact, can so clearly show the powerful oppression of the system as the total inefficiency of individual benevolence to heal the misery of those who suffer under it. Its power is stupendous, awful, terrible! Nature herself, elsewhere so omnipotent, here feels the strength of unchecked human wickedness, and seems to bend before it. For most certain is it, that in less than half a century, during which the present factory system has been in operation, the lineaments of the race involved in it are changed and deteriorated. The manufacturing population are of lesser and of weaker growth than their agricultural countrymen. The development of the intellectual faculties is obviously becoming weaker, and many whom we have every reason to believe understand the physiology of man as thoroughly as science can teach it to them, do not scruple to assert, that if the present system continues, the race of English factory operatives will dwindle and sink in the strongly-graduated scale of human beings, to something lower than the Esquimaux.”
“Gracious Heaven!” cried Mary, clasping her hands with an emotion that almost amounted to agony, “and all these horrors are perpetrated for the sake of making rich, needlessly, uselessly rich, a few obscure manufacturing families like my own! This is very dreadful sir,” she continued, while tears burst from her eyes. “I have gained knowledge but not peace by my visit, and I must leave you with the sad conviction that the hope I had nourished of making my fortune useful to the suffering creatures among whom I live, is vain and idle.”
Mr. Bell listened to this melancholy assertion, and sighed because he could not contradict it. “Yes said he, at length, “it is even so; and if any proof were wanted of the depth and hopelessness of the wretchedness which the present system produces, it might be found in the fact, that despite the inclination I feel both for your sake, and that of the poor operatives, to encourage your generous benevolence, I cannot in conscience tell you that it is in your power effectually to assist them. That you may save your own excellent heart from the palsy of hopeless and helpless pity, by the indulgence of your benevolence in individual cases of distress, I need not point out to you; but that any of the ordinary modes of being useful on a larger scale, such as organising schools, founding benefit societies, or the like, could be of any use to beings so crushed, so toil-worn, and so degraded, it would be idle to hope.”
Miss Brotherton now rose to depart — but as she extended her hand, and began to utter her farewell, it occurred to her that it was possible her new friend might, by conjecture at least throw some light upon the destination of little Michael, and avoiding as much as possible the making any direct charge against her rich neighbour, she briefly narrated the facts of Michael’s adoption, dismissal, and unknown destination, with little commentary on either, but concluded by saying, “The mother of the child is in great anxiety about him, and though I cannot conceive it possible any harm can have befallen the boy, I am in some sort a fellow-sufferer with her in the anxiety which this mystery occasions, from having almost pledged myself to learn the place of his destination. Can you, dear sir, suggest to me any means by which this information can be obtained?”
“Some part of this history has reached us already,” replied Mr. Bell. “It has been somewhat industriously bruited through the neighbourhood, that Sir Matthew Dowling, notoriously one of the most tyrannical millocrats in the whole district, has been moved to kindness in behalf of some poor widow’s son, and taken him to be reared and educated with his own children — I trust I am excusable, knowing what I know, for misdoubting the disinterested benevolence of any act of Sir Matthew Dowling’s. Nevertheless it is certainly not easy to perceive why, after having so ostentatiously distinguished the boy, he should kidnap him, as it were, from his own house, in order to get rid of him. If, instead of being the object of especial favour, the little fellow had fallen under the rich knight’s displeasure, Miss Brotherton, I should think it by no means improbable that he might have consigned him as an apprentice to some establishment, too notorious for its severity to make it desirable that his selection of it should be made known. But of this there seems neither proof nor likelihood.”
Miss Brotherton turned pale as she listened to this suggestion. “Nay, but there is both truth and likelihood in such a suspicion,” she exclaimed with considerable emotion, and after a moment’s consideration, added, “I know no reason why I should conceal the cause I have for saying so — if you know not all, how can you give me counsel?”
Hurriedly, and as briefly as possible, Miss Brotherton then recounted the scene she had witnessed in the green-room of the Dowling-lodge theatricals, but there was an unconscious and involuntary fervour in her manner of narrating it, which rendered it impossible to listen with indifference, or not to feel at the recital some portion of the indignation she had felt when it occurred.
“It must be looked to, Miss Brotherton,” replied her warm-hearted new acquaintance. “The boy must be traced, tracked, found, and rescued. I think there are few of these wretched prison-houses of whose existence I am ignorant, and it is probable I may be able to help you in this. Should I obtain any hint likely to be useful in the search, I will call upon you, if you will give me leave, to communicate it.”
Most earnestly and truly did the heiress assure him that it was impossible she could receive a visit more calculated to give her pleasure, adding that whether the hint were obtained or not, she trusted the acquaintance she had so unceremoniously began, would not drop here and that by returning her visit, he would prove to her that he was not displeased by it.
It rarely happens between right-hearted people who meet for the first time, if one of the parties conceives a liking for the other, that it fails to prove mutual; and it was with a cordial sincerity, as genuine as her own, that Mr. Bell expressed his hope that their acquaintance would ripen into friendship.
Too intently occupied by all that had passed, to remember her own arrangements, Mary forgot that her carriage was not at the door, and while these parting words were exchanged, walked forth, expecting to find it. It was Mrs. Tremlett who first recollected that the coachman had been ordered to put up his horses at the nearest inn, but this was not till they had traversed the little garden, and were already in the lane; for though the good nurse had been little more than personnage muet during the foregoing scene, she had taken a deep interest in it, and it was much with the air of one awaking from a dream, that she sai
d, “My dear Miss Mary! you have forgot that the carriage is sent away.” —
“Indeed have I!” said Mary, laughing, “and no wonder. But there stands our faithful William, he will tell us in what direction we may find it.”—’
“Will you not return, Miss Brotherton, while it is made ready?” said the clergyman.
“Not if you will walk on with us, dear sir. The evening is delightful, but already quite far enough advanced to make it prudent not to lose any time.” And having given orders that the carriage was to follow, they strolled on towards the turnpike.
“There,” said Mr. Bell, pointing to the towering chimneys of a large factory at some distance, “there, Miss Brotherton, is an establishment where, though carding and spinning go on within the walls, and some hundreds of children and young girls are employed in attending the machinery that performs the process, the voice of misery is never heard, for there the love of gold is chained and held captive by religion and humanity.”
“Thank God!” exclaimed Mary, as she looked at the sinless monster to which he pointed. “It is not of necessity then, that this dangerous trade is fatal to all employed in it.”
“Certainly not. Were but its labours restricted both for young and old, to ten hours a day, there is no reason on earth why it should not be carried on with comfort and advantage to every individual concerned in it, and with credit, honour, and prosperity to the country. But you can hardly guess what up-hill work it is, when one good man has got to stand alone, and breast the competition of a whole host of bad ones in his commercial enterprises. The high-minded owners of yonder factory are losing thousands every year by their efforts to purify this traffic of its enormities — and some thousand small still voices call down blessings on them for it. But while it costs them ten shillings to produce what their neighbours can bring into the market for nine, they will only be pointed at as pitiably unwise in their generation by all the great family of Mammon which surrounds them. Few, alas! will think of following the example! All they can do therefore is in fact but to carry on a system of private charity on an enormous scale — but till they are supported by law, even their vast efforts, and most noble sacrifices can do nothing towards the general redemption of our poor northern people from the state of slavery into which they have fallen. And yet I do believe, Miss Brotherton,” he continued, after a pause, “I do most truly believe that these greedy tyrants would fail more rarely than now they do in their efforts to realize enormous wealth, if the system were to undergo exactly the change we ask for. The plan of under-selling may indeed in some few instances enable a very lucky man to run up a blood-stained fortune; and blood-stained it must be, for whenever this method of commanding a sale is pursued, and ruin does NOT ensue, it is demonstrable that the bones and marrow of children, working unlimited hours, must have been the main agent in the operation. But it is quite certain that the underselling system must upon the long run be ruinous. If all the losses upon our production were fairly set against all the gains from the immoderate working of young hands, the slavery scheme would appear as little profitable as holy. But here is your carriage, my dear young lady! God bless you! and may we live to rejoice together over an effectual legislative remedy for the evils we have passed this our first interview in deploring!”
So saying, he extended his hand to assist her into the carriage which had already drawn up beside them — but Miss Brotherton stepped aside while he performed this office to her friend, and then laying her hand on his arm, drew him back a step or too to the spot from whence the factory chimneys he had pointed out to her were visible.
“Tell me, before we part,” she said, “the names of those to whom that building belongs?”
“WOOD AND WALKER,” replied the clergyman.
“Thank you!” she replied; “I shall never hear those names without breathing a blessing on them!”
Friendly farewells were once more exchanged, and the meditative heiress was driven back to Millford-park in silence so profound, that her old friend believed her to be asleep, and carefully abstained from any movement that might awaken her. But Mary Brotherton was not asleep.
CHAPTER XX.
TRADE IN A FLOURISHING STATE — THE BENEFITS CONFERRED THEREBY TO THOSE EMPLOYED IN IT — THE NATURAL LOGIC OF RELIGION — ITS FALLIBILITY WHEN PUT TO THE TEST.
THE moment at which Michael Armstrong entered the cotton mill at Deep Valley, was a critical one. The summer had been more than commonly sultry, and a large order had kept all hands very sharply at work. Even at dead of night the machinery was never stopped, and when one set of fainting children were dragged from the mules another set were dragged from the reeking beds they were about to occupy, in order to take their places. The ventilation throughout the whole fabric was exceedingly imperfect; the heat, particularly in the rooms immediately beneath the roof, frightfully intense; cleanliness as to the beds, the floors, and the walls, utterly neglected; and even the persons of the children permitted to be filthy to excess, from having no soap allowed to assist their ablutions — though from the greasy nature of their employment it was peculiarly required, while the coarse meal occasionally given out to supply its place was invariably swallowed, being far too precious in the eyes of the hungry children to be applied to the purpose for which it was designed. In addition to all this, the food was miserably scanty, and of a nature so totally unfit to sustain the strength of growing children thus severely worked, that within a fortnight after Michael’s arrival, an epidemic fever of a very alarming description began to shew itself. But it had made considerable progress, before the presence of this new horror was revealed to him.
Notwithstanding all the hardships of Brookford factory, no infectious disease had ever appeared there, which it is possible might have been owing to the fact that the majority of the labourers in it lived at a considerable distance, thus insuring to them a walk morning and night, through the fresh air. This, though it added to their daily fatigue, probably lessened the danger of it, while the wretched hovels to which they returned for their short night’s rest, miserable shelters as they were, reeked not with the congregated effluvia of fifty uncleansed sleepers in one chamber! Michael, therefore, had never before witnessed the hideous approach of contagion. The general appearance too of the Deep Valley troop was so far from healthy, that the sickly aspect of those first seized upon was less remarkable than it would have been elsewhere. Thus another week wore away, during which, though several of those who had been working when it began were withdrawn, and known to be in the sick-ward ere it closed, the fact that an infectious fever was among them had not yet got wing.
“Poor dear Betsy Price!” whispered Fanny Fletcher to her friend Michael, as they sat side by side at their miserable dinner one day. “I heard missis tell master that she was dead. But I am trying to be glad for it Michael.”
“Glad, Fanny?” replied the boy, “you told me once that you liked her more than any other girl in the mill, and now you are glad she is dead!”
“I am not so glad as I think I o ught to be,” returned Fanny gently. “She will not be hungry in Heaven, Michael, nor will she work till she is ready to fall: and surely God will give us green fields and sweet fresh air in Heaven, and there must be flowers, Michael. Oh! I am quite sure of that, and Betsy Price will have it all! Ought I not to be very, very, glad?”
Michael looked in her sweet, innocent face, as she said this, and tears filled his eyes.
“And if you die, Fanny, must I be glad too?”
“If you thought about Heaven as I do, and if you loved me very much indeed,” replied the little girl, “I can’t tell how you could help being glad.”
“But I do love you very much indeed,” said Michael, almost choked by his efforts not to cry, “and I do think of Heaven, too, Fanny, but I could’nt be glad if you was to die!”
“Not when you hear that, Michael!” said Fanny, starting up as the lash of the governor’s whip resounded through the room as a signal that their numbered moments of rest were ove
r. “I suppose then I love you better than you love me, for I could not help being glad if I knew that you would never hear nor feel that lash again!”
When they met again at supper, Michael, though still unsuspicious of the cause, missed three more children from their places. He fancied, too, that there was something new and strange in the aspect of their hard-featured female tyrant; she was paler than usual, scolded not at all, and when she spoke to her husband, it was in a voice that hardly exceeded a whisper. Yet, notwithstanding this, some young ears again caught words that told of death. Yet still the mill worked on, and nothing seemed to mark that any calamity more than usual had got among them.
By degrees, however, the growing pestilence burst forth, as it were, before the eyes of the terrified children, and they knew that the grave yawned before them all. Then it was that the ghastly countenances of each doomed victim struck dismay into the hearts of their companions even before, they were permitted to leave their labour, and sink down to the rest that should be disturbed no more. But still the mill went on, for Mr. Elgood Sharpton had just received a glorious order from Russia, and it would have been perfect madness, as this gentlemen was heard to remark to his eldest son, if a death or two among the apprentice children was to check the mill at such a time as that.
So the mill went on, and death went on too. But as it is considered by all parties concerned to be extremely important that the cry of epidemic contagion should not be raised in the neighbourhood of a factory under these circumstances, it was deemed best by Mr. Elgood Sharpton, and his confidential managers, not to call in medical assistance.
“For first and foremost, Poulet,” said the experienced proprietor to the governor of the apprentice house, “first and foremost, it is of no manner of use. I never knew any proper, regular contagious fever in my life, that could be stopped short by a doctor. You must take care of yourself and your wife, of course, and I will see that you have a hamper of good old port sent in, and mind that you both of you take two glasses a day each, Poulet — one before you go into the rooms in the morning, and the other, after you have seen them all down for the night, and we must order in a cask of vinegar to sprinkle the chambers. Trust me that this will do more good than all the doctors that ever were hatched. Besides the vinegar cask will never sing out you know, Poulet, and the doctor might.”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 195