Braunt and Marsten passed from the dimness of Rose Garden Court into
the brilliancy of Light Street, which on certain nights in the week was
like one prolonged fair, each side being lined with heaped-up
coster’s barrows, radiant with flaring gasoline. Incense was being
burned--evil-smelling incense--to the God of Cheapness. Hordes of
women, down at the heel, were bargaining with equally impecunious
venders--meeting and chaffering on the common level of poverty.
Turning into a side street and then into a narrower lane, the two men
came to a huge building where the Salvation Army held its services--a
building let temporarily to the employees of Monkton & Hope for the
discussion of their grievances. The place was crowded to the doors, and
the latest comers had some difficulty in making their way along one side
of the walls, nearer the front platform, where they at last found room
half way between the doors and the speakers.
Scimmins was in the chair, looking very uneasy and out of place, not
knowing exactly what was expected of him, smiling a wan deprecatory
smile occasionally as some of his pals in the crowd made audible remarks
about his elevation, and the native dignity he brought to bear on his
office. One gave it as his opinion (“if you awsked him”) that Scimmins
would have looked more natural with a pint pot in his right hand,
instead of the mallet with which he was supposed to keep order.
On a row of chairs at the back of the platform sat the members of
the committee, looking, most of them, quite as uncomfortable as the
chairman. Several reporters were writing at a table provided for them.
Sometimes one whispered a question to the chairman or a member of the
committee, and received the almost invariable answer, “Blest if I know,
arsk Gibbons.”
Gibbons was quite palpably the man of the hour. He was on his feet by
virtue of his position as chairman of the committee and secretary to the
Union, and was just finishing the reading of the committee’s report as
Braunt and Marsten found standing-room at the side of the hall.
“--And finally your committee begs leave to report that Mr. Sartwell,
having rejected all overtures from your committee, refusing to confer
with it either through its chairman, or as a body, it was resolved that
this report be drawn up and presented to you in order that definite
action may be taken upon it.”
Gibbons, when he had finished reading the document, placed it upon the
reporters’ table for their closer inspection. He had drawn up the report
himself and was naturally rather proud of the wording, and he hoped
to see it printed in the newspapers. He turned to his audience, after
saluting the chairman.
“Now, gentlemen, you have heard the report. The committee appointed by
you, empowered by you, acting for you, vested in your authority, has
done all in its power to bring this matter to an amicable conclusion; It
has left no stone unturned, shrunk from no honourable means, spared
no trouble, to bring about an understanding fair alike to employer
and employee. But, gentlemen, your committee has been met at the very
threshold with a difficulty which it could not surmount; a difficulty
that has rendered all its efforts abortive. The firm of Monkton & Hope
refers the committee to Mr. Sartwell, the manager, and Mr. Sartwell
absolutely refuses to see the committee and discuss anything with it.
This man, who was once a workman himself, now arrogates----”
Here one of the reporters pulled Gibbons’s coat-tail, and a whispered
colloquy took place. When it was over, Gibbons continued: “A gentleman
of the press has asked me a question--and a very proper question it is.
He asks if we threatened Mr. Sartwell in any way with a strike, as has
been rumoured. Gentlemen, no threats of any kind whatever have been
used.” (Cheers.) “We have approached Mr. Sartwell with the same
deference that we would have approached a member of Her Majesty’s
Government if we had a petition to present. The sum and substance of the
whole business is that Mr. Sartwell absolutely refuses to treat with his
own men when they have----”
“That is not true,” said a voice, from the side of the hall.
The crowd turned their heads towards the sound, noticeably gleeful at
the interruption. It promised liveliness ahead. There was a murmur of
pleasurable anticipation. Gibbons turned sharply towards the point from
which the voice came.
“What is not true?” he demanded.
“It’s not true that Mr. Sartwell refuses to see his own men.”
“Are you one of them?”
“Yes. Are you?”
There was a rustle of intense enjoyment at this palpable hit at Gibbons.
The glib speaker himself was taken aback by the retort, but only for a
moment.
“I thought,” continued the secretary, “that it might have been some one
sent here to interrupt this meeting. This may still be the case, but we
will waive that point. We will not follow Mr. Sartwell’s example, and if
there is any friend of his present we shall be pleased to hear from him
at the proper time. As I was about to say when I was int----”
“I answered your question; answer mine,” cried the voice.
Gibbons glanced appealingly at the Chair for protection, and Scimmins
rapped feebly with his gavel on the table in front of him, saying,
“Order, order,” but in a tone that he apparently hoped nobody would
hear.
“What is your question?” asked Gibbons, with an angry ring in his voice.
“Are you an employee of Monkton & Hope?”
“I am secretary of the Union of which that firm’s men are a part, and I
may add, the strongest Union in London. I am chairman of this committee,
composed of that firm’s men. I did not seek the position, but was
unanimously elected to it; therefore I claim that practically I am an
employee of Monkton & Hope, and that no man here has a better right
to speak for those employees--aye, or to stand up for them against
oppression--than I have. And I will tell the man who interrupts me--I’ll
tell him to his face--that I am not to be brow-beaten from the path
of duty, by him, or by Mr. Sartwell either, as long as I retain the
confidence of the men who put me here. I acknowledge no other masters.
If you want to address this meeting, come up here on the platform and
face it like a man, and not stand barking there like a dog. Let’s have a
look at you.”
There was wild cheering at this. The fight was on, and the crowd was
jubilant. This was the kind of talk they liked to hear.
Braunt smote young Marsten on the back and pushed him forward.
“Take oop the challenge, lad,” he cried. “Oop wi’ ye. I’ll follow ye,
and give them some facts about the unemployed. We’ve got this meeting if
we work it right. Oop wi’ ye, mate.”
Marsten went toward the platform, the crowd making way for him. Gibbons
stood for a moment apparently surprised at this unexpected opposition,
then walked back to his chair at the head of the committee. The
good-natured gathering cheered when they saw the young man standing
before them.
“Fellow-workingmen--” he began.
“Address the Chair,” admonished some one in the middle of the hall,
whereat there was a laugh. Scimmins himself indulged in a sickly smile.
The speaker reddened slightly, and in confused haste said:
“Mr. Chairman and fellow-workers-----”
The crowd cheered lustily, and it was some moments before Marsten could
again get a hearing. A feeling of despair came over him as he stood
before them. It was only too evident that they all looked upon the
whole proceeding as a great lark, something in the way of a music-hall
entertainment without the beer,--which was a drawback of course; but
also without any charge for admission,--which was an advantage, for it
left so much more cash to expend in stimulants after the fun was over.
He wondered, as he looked at the chaffing jocular assemblage, whether he
was taking too serious a view of the situation. There flashed across his
mind a sentence he had heard in a lecture on socialism. “It is not the
capitalist nor the government you have to conquer,” the lecturer had
said, “but the workmen themselves.”
When the disorder had subsided so that his voice could be heard, Marsten
went on:
“Mr. Gibbons asserted that the manager had refused to consult with
his employees, and I claimed that such a statement was not true. Mr.
Sartwell told me himself that he was willing to receive a deputation
from the men of the works. He said----”
“What’s that?” cried Gibbons, springing to his feet and taking a step
forward.
“Don’t interrupt the speaker,” shouted Braunt, from the body of the
hall.
“He interrupted me,” roared Gibbons, now thoroughly angry. Turning to
the young man who stood there silently, waiting for statement and retort
to cease, the secretary demanded:
“When did Sartwell tell you that?”
“On Tuesday night.”
“On Tuesday night!” repeated Gibbons, coming to the front of the
platform. “On Tuesday night! and you have the brazen cheek to stand here
and admit it.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” asked Marsten, with perceptible self-control, but
whitening around his tightened lips.
“Why shouldn’t you? I’ll tell you why. Because you sneaked in behind the
backs of the committee you had helped to appoint. That’s why.”
“I had no hand in appointing the committee.”
“Every man in the works had a hand in appointing the committee. If you
didn’t vote, then you neglected your duty. If you voted against the
committee, you were bound by the result just as the committee would
have been bound, if they had been defeated. That’s trade unionism--stand
together or fall together. You, knowing a committee had been appointed
to deal with this very business, must go crawling to Sartwell, and
undermine the work of your fellow-unionists.”
“That’s a lie!” hissed Marsten, through his set teeth, in a low but
intense tone of voice which was heard to the further end of the hall.
The young man strode toward his antagonist, his right hand nervously
clinching and unclinching. It was an electric moment,--the crowd held
its breath. They expected the next move would be a blow.
Gibbons stood his ground without flinching. Not a muscle of his face
moved except his eyelids, which partially closed over his eyes, leaving
a slit through which a steely glance shot at Marsten; but his answer was
not so truculent as his look.
“If it’s a lie,” he said calmly, to the evident disappointment of
his hearers, “then the lie is not mine. I was merely putting your own
statements in a little terser language; that’s all.”
Braunt, who had with difficulty kept his hot temper in hand during this
colloquy on the stage, now roared at the top of his voice:
“Give t’ lad a chance to speak and shut your silly mouth. He’s called
you a liar like a man and you daren’t take him oop like a man. Sit down,
you fool!”
“I must really ask the protection of the Chair,” protested the
secretary, turning to Scimmins. The latter, feeling that something was
expected of him, rose rather uncertainly to his feet, and struck the
table three or four times with his mallet.
“Order, order!” he cried. “If there is any more disturbance down there,
the man will be put out of the meeting.
“What!” shouted Braunt. “Put me out! Egod! I’ll give ’ee th’ chance.”
The big man made his way toward the platform, brushing aside from his
path a few who, in the interests of law and order, endeavoured to oppose
him. The majority of those present, however, were manifestly of opinion
that the progress of the angry man should not be barred, so they cheered
his intervention and made encouraging remarks.
Braunt sprang upon the platform, advanced to the chair, smote his
clinched fist on the table, and cried:
“Here I am, Scimmins. Now put me out; d’ye hear?”
He paused for a reply, but there was none. Scimmins, shrinking from him,
obviously prepared for flight if Braunt attempted to storm the position.
The Yorkshireman glared about him, but those on the platform appeared
to think that the time for protest had not yet arrived. Meanwhile, the
audience was calling loudly for a speech.
“I haven’t much to say, mates,” began Braunt, calming down through lack
of opposition, “and I’m no man at the gab. I’m a worker, and all I want
is a chance to earn my bread. But I’ll say this: I saw in t’ papers not
so long ago that there’s twenty-seven thousand men of our trade out of
work in England today. Twenty-seven thousand men anxious for a job.
Now what is this man Gibbons asking you to do? He’s asking you to chook
up your jobs and have your places taken by some of them twenty-seven
thousand. Sartwell has only to put an advertisement in the papers, and
he can fill the shops five times over in two days. It’s always easier to
chook oop a job than to get a new one these times. I know, because I’ve
tried it. So have most of you. Take my advice, and go no further with
this nonsense. If Sartwell, as Mar-sten says, is willing to talk over
grievances, then I say let us send him a deputation of our own men, with
no outsiders among ’em. What’s the Union done for us? Taken our money
every week, that’s all I can see. And now they have got so much of it
they want to squander it fighting a strong man like Sartwell.”
Marsten had sat down on the edge of the platform. We are always quicker
to perceive the mistakes of others than to recognize our own, and he
did not like Braunt’s talk against the Union. He felt that it would be
unpopular, besides he believed in the Union if it were properly led. His
fight was against Gibbons, not against the organization.
Gibbons was in his chair, and he had rapidly taken the measure of the
speaker. He saw that the address was having its effect, and that the
crowd was slipping away from his control. It was a risky thing to do
with such a powerful man, but he made up his mind that Braunt must be
angered, when he would likely, in his violence, lose all the ground he
had gained. So Gibbons quietly, with his eye, gathered up his trusty
henchmen, who were scattered in different parts of the hall to give an
appearance of unanimity to the shouting when the proper time came, and
these men had now gradually edged to the front during the speaking. One
or two had silently mounted the platform and held a whispered conference
with the secretary, after which they and some others took their places
behind the seated committee. When Sartwell was alluded to, Gibbons
arose.
“Mr. Chairman,” he said, “I cannot allow----”
Braunt turned on him like a raging lion.
“Don’t you interrupt me,” he cried, rolling up his sleeves, “or I’ll
bash you through that window.”
“Order, order!” said the chairman, faintly.
“Yes, an’ you atop o’ him!” shouted the infuriated man. “I’ve done it
before.”
“Respect the meeting, if you have no regard for the Chair,” said
Gibbons, calmly.
“You talk to us as if we were a parcel of fools,” cried a man in front.
Braunt, like a baited bull, not knowing in which direction to rush,
turned his eyes, blazing with rage, upon the last speaker. He shook his
clenched fist and bared arm at the audience.
“What else are you?” he roared, at the top of his voice. “A parcel o’
dommed fools, all o’ ye. Led by the nose by a still bigger fool than
any o’ ye. Yes; a set o’ chattering idiots, that’s what ye are, with
not enough brains among the lot o’ ye to turn a grindstone. I know ye,
a beer-sodden gang, with just enough sense to see that your pint mug’s
full.”
By this time those in the hall were in a state of exasperation bordering
on frenzy. A small door, to the right of the stage, connecting with an
alley, had been opened, and a number of the more timid, seeing a storm
impending, had quietly slipped out. The meeting was now a seething mob,
crying for the blood of the man who stood there defying them and heaping
contumely upon it.
Gibbons, his lips pale but firm, took a step forward. “We have had
enough of this,” he said. “Get off the platform!”
Braunt turned as if on a pivot, and rushed at the secretary. The latter
stepped nimbly back, and one of his supporters, with a running jump and
hop, planted his boot squarely in Braunt’s stomach. The impetus was so
great, and the assault so sudden and unexpected, that Braunt, powerful
as he was, doubled up like a two-foot rule, and fell backward from
the platform to the floor. Instantly a dozen men pounced upon him, and
hustled him, in spite of his striking out right and left, through
the open door into the alley. The door was closed and bolted in the
twinkling of an eye--Braunt outside and his assailants within. It was
all so neatly and so quickly done, that the police, who had been on the
alert for some time, only reached the spot when the door was bolted. The
crowd, with but the vaguest general notion of what had happened, beyond
the sudden backward collapse of Braunt, raised a wild cheer for which
Gibbons was thankful. He did not wish them to know that Braunt had been
taken in hand by the police outside, and he had been very anxious, if an
arrest were inevitable, that it should not take place in the hall, for
then even Braunt’s violent tirade would not have prevented universal
sympathy turning towards him. While the cheer was ringing up to the
roof, Gibbons had heard a terrific blow delivered against the door, a
blow that nearly burst in the bolt and made the faces of those standing
near turn pale. Another crashing hit shattered the panel and gave
a glimpse for one moment of bleeding knuckles. Then there was an
indication of a short sharp struggle in the alley, and all was quiet
save the reverberating echo of the cheer.
Gibbons strode to the front of the platform, and held up his hand for
silence.
“I am very sorry,” he said, “that the last speaker made some remarks
which ought not to have been made, but let us all remember that hard
words break no bones. However, there has been enough talk for one night,
and it is time to proceed to business. Gentlemen, you have heard the
report of the committee--what is your pleasure?”
“I move,” said a man, rising in the middle of the hall, “that we go on
strike.”
“I second that motion,” cried several voices.
“Put the motion,” whispered Gibbons to the bewildered chairman.
Scimmins rose to his feet.
“You have all heard the motion,” he said. “All in favour say aye.”
A seemingly universal shout of “Aye” arose. The chairman was on the
point of resuming his seat when Gibbons, in a quick aside, said:
“Contrary.”
“All to the contrary,” called out the chairman, hovering between sitting
and standing.
There was no dissent, for Marsten had left to see what had become of his
friend, and the timorous men had stolen away when they detected signs of
disturbance.
“Motion’s carried,” said Scimmins, seating himself with every indication
of relief.
“Unanimously,” added Gibbons loudly, unable to conceal his satisfaction
with the result.