Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
The Seed She Sowed
A Tale of the Great Dock Strike
BY
EMMA LESLIE
Author of "Arthur's Inheritance," "Gytha's Message,"
"A Gypsy Against Her Will," &c.
_ILLUSTRATED_
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON, GLASGOW, AND BOMBAY
CONTENTS.
—————
CHAP.
I. WINNY CHAPLIN'S HOME
II. NEW WORK
III. THE NEIGHBOURS
IV. WHAT PASSION DID
V. WINNY'S SACRIFICE
VI. ONE WINDY MORNING
VII. THE STRIKE
VIII. CONCLUSION
THE SEED SHE SOWED.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
WINNY CHAPLIN'S HOME.
"FATHER won't be long now, and as he didn't get any work yesterday,
he's sure to to-day. He allus does, I've noticed," and the speaker, a
pretty little girl of ten, carefully dropped a few cinders on the fire
as she spoke, that the room might look bright and cheerful for her
father when he came in from his work at the docks.
"Are you very hungry, Letty?" asked a voice from the corner.
The girl sitting in the glow of the firelight turned towards the
shadowed corner where her sister lay on a home-made couch of boxes and
asked: "Will you want some more medicine, do you think?"
"I'm afraid so; I haven't had any for a week, and my back is getting
bad again. But we won't say anything about it till we see how much
father gets to-day. Mother is sure to get eighteen pence for her
washing at Mrs. Rutter's, so she might be able to spare sixpence for a
bottle of medicine if father got a day's work too."
"He wouldn't get a whole day—why, he hasn't had a whole day's work for
a long time! But he might get a shilling or perhaps a little more, and
then I should think you might have the medicine. I'll go and have a
look up the street and see if he is coming, for I know you want your
tea badly by this time. I had my dinner at the mission-hall, so I'm not
so hungry as you are." And as she spoke she opened the door, letting
out a glow of ruddy firelight that drew another girl to the doorway.
"How are you to-day, Winny?" she said thrusting her head in and
looking round the room. "How jolly you always look in here!" she added
surveying the little room, that did have an air of comfort about it in
spite of its shabby furniture, which looked quite rich and luxurious in
the glow of the firelight.
There was a carpet on the floor that still retained patches of crimson
here and there. Winny's box couch, too, was covered with a patchwork
of cretonne which looked bright and pretty; and there was an arm-chair
covered in the same fashion on the other side of the fireplace, and
a little round table in the middle of the room covered with a white
cloth, on which was set out the tea-cups and a plate or two, but not an
atom of food, because the last morsel was eaten at breakfast time, and
until father or mother came home with the day's earnings, no tea could
be had by the sisters.
Most eagerly did Letty peer into the darkness of the dreary little
street. The wind blew cuttingly cold off the river, and although it was
not much after five o'clock, it had been so dull and foggy all day that
now in the March wind everybody had been glad to get indoors, and no
one was to be seen moving about. Here and there lights twinkled in the
windows of the houses; but many, like this home window of Letty's, only
showed the red glow of a little cinder fire made ready for the festival
of the day—tea, when the children were at least sure of half a meal if
the father's earnings would not get them a whole one.
After looking up and down the street for either father or mother to
appear, Letty went indoors and upstairs, for she was shivering, and the
little stool by the fireside was more comfortable than the door-step.
"Was that Annie Brown went out just now?" she asked rather sharply as
she came in.
"Yes. She just looked in as she went by," answered the voice in the
corner.
"I wonder you talk to her, Winny, when you know they are all such a bad
lot," said her sister shutting the door with a bang.
"Oh, Annie is not so bad when you come to know her. Her father works at
the docks; gets more work, I think, than father does, and—"
"That may be, but still I know mother don't want me to go to play with
her," said Letty speaking somewhat severely.
But her sister only smiled to herself in the shadow. Letty was like
her mother, and prided herself on holding herself aloof from a good
many—nay, most of their neighbours, for they had not always been so
poor as they now were.
Chaplin had been a carpenter, but ill-health and bad times had thrown
him out of work, and he had drifted from one thing to the other until
at last he had been glad to get an occasional day's work at the docks
as a day labourer, while his wife got a little charing at some of the
larger houses close at hand.
In this way, a year or two had passed, during which, if they had sunk
no lower, they had made no headway towards recovering their position.
And during this time, the eldest girl, Winny, had gradually sunk into a
state of ill-health that at first seemed likely to add to her father's
despondency. But the girl herself developed a cheerfulness that made
her a very fountain of hope and good cheer for others, although she
seemed to have given up all thought of being any better herself.
No one seeing that pale patient face on the pillow of her couch would
ever have dreamt what she was, not only to her own mother, father,
and sister, but to all who lived in the house. When people came as
new tenants, they would hear from one and the other of "little Winny
Chaplin" before they had been in the house a week, and if anybody was
in trouble, Winny was sure to know all about it. The little back room
they occupied was in point of fact the heart of that house with its
cluster of households, and so it was no uncommon thing for one and the
other to open the door and exchange a word or two with the invalid,
especially when her mother was out all day.
In this way she learned to know her neighbours as her mother never
would; for there was something so winning about the girl, that people
talking to her forgot sometimes that she was only a girl, and told her
of troubles that they would have shrunk from imparting to older and
wiser friends. Then, too, Winny always had time to listen to their
stories, and the very telling them to such a sympathetic listener often
lifted the load a little; and if Winny could do no more, she would
whisper tenderly to her visitor: "God knows all about it, you know. I
will ask him to help you."
Sometimes a curious smile would part the lips of the complainer when
she said this, for however heavy the trouble under discussion might be,
it rarely happened that it was so great as that affliction she herself
was called upon to endure, and perhaps the visitor would add: "Do you
think God knows about your own trouble?"
"Oh yes, I'm sure he does," Winny would reply with a bright look. "He
is so good to me that—that—I hardly know how to be thankful enough.
I wasn't just at first, you know," she would hasten to add. "I used
to think that God ought to make me well quick, and let me go to
Sunday-school again; and when he did not seem to hear, and I got weaker
and weaker, I began to cry, until one day it all at once came over me
like a great light that God had some work for me to do lying still on
this couch. Then I thought how the Lord Jesus had been willing to come
and live here—and it must have been a very horrid place for him to live
in; but he came to do his Father's work and to save us, and so he did
not mind. And when I thought of this, I felt so glad that I forgot the
pain in my back for a long time. So, you see, God is helping me all the
time, for he is always pouring just as much gladness into my heart as I
can bear."
"But, Winny," the friends had said, "if God helps you as you say, why
does not he make you well? Don't you think he could?"
"Oh, yes, of course; and I daresay it would be quite as easy for him to
make me well as to give me so much gladness. But then it might not be
so good for me, or for the people about here. Don't you see I'm doing
God's work here? Only a little bit of course; but it is enough to make
anyone feel glad to be able to do even a little bit for the dear Lord
who gave all his life for us."
So it was not strange that Annie Brown should sometimes look in upon
the invalid, although she did have the character of being a wild, bold
girl.
Mrs. Chaplin, however, did not like her or her father, who often
spent his money in drink when he earned a little more than usual. And
so Letty was quite right in what she said; and her sister did not
contradict her, but just smiled to herself in the shadow while Letty
carefully dropped a few more cinders on the fire.
Before she had finished, the street door opened, and the next minute
Winny exclaimed joyfully, "There's father at last, open the door quick!"
Letty needed no second bidding; she dropped the shovel she had in her
hand and ran to the door of the room.
"You're late, father," she said by way of greeting, looking at him
keenly to see by his face how much money his pocket was likely to
contain.
The signs were not very favourable. Chaplin was looking sad and
dispirited, and as he dropped into the arm-chair which Letty had drawn
round to the fire, he said, "Only an hour's work—only fi'pence, my
lasses."
Winny felt disappointed. She had made so sure her father would at
least get two hours work and bring home tenpence to-night. She heaved
a little sigh as she thought of the medicine that could not be bought
now, and then conquering her own personal share of the disappointment,
she said, "Get a loaf and a bit of dripping if you can, Letty; father
is hungry I can see. We can make the old tea leaves do once more, and
there is some sugar in the cupboard, I think."
Letty soon put on her hat, and taking up the little pile of halfpence
which her father laid down on the table, she ran downstairs and out of
the house.
Winny watched her father as he sat with his head drooped on his hand,
looking too weary to talk. The girl knew the signs too well to speak to
him just now. By and by, when he had had his tea, he would tell them
about his day's work, and how many men were standing about outside the
dock gates to-day—waiting for a chance to be called in.
Presently Letty came back with a rare treasure in her hand. As she came
up the street from the chandler's shop, the wind brought a newspaper
rustling and fluttering down from the main road at the other end. Letty
picked it up and stood with it in her hand, thinking someone would come
out of the darkness and claim it; but after standing for a minute or
two peering into the gloom, and neither seeing or hearing anyone, she
decided that she might take it home to her father.
"Look here, father, what I have found," she said holding out the paper.
"Ah! That'll be a treat," he said holding out his hand to take it. "Can
we have a light, Winny?" he said rather wistfully, half fearing that
even now, he might be balked of his reading.
Letty set the loaf and dripping down on the table, and went to a shelf
in the corner and brought a lamp to the table.
"Oh, yes, there is some oil in it," said her sister as she held it up
to look at it. "Mother told me last night when she put it out that
there was a nice drop left in it."
Ninny was always the family remembrancer in these small household
economies, for a lamp could not be burned wastefully, and so a careful
record was kept as to how long a lamp had been burning. After a little
discussion, it was decided that it would be best to have tea by
firelight only, and light the lamp for father as soon as he had washed
himself.
This was done down in the little back yard, and when it was over, the
lamp was lighted, and he sat down to the perusal of his paper.
It was a rare treat for him to have a whole newspaper for his own
reading, and he was soon deeply interested in what he read.
When his wife came in from her day's work, he could hardly wait for her
to sit down before he began to talk about the things which had taken
his attention in the paper.
"I say, mother, the House of Lords is having an inquiry into the
sweating system," he said, speaking quite eagerly.
The poor woman was very tired, and did not feel much interest in what
her husband was talking about, but she said with a little show of
interest, "What do you mean, Tom?"
"Mean! Well, you'd know if you worked in the docks, where the foreman
does nothing for his money but hunt us along, yelling, 'Shove up there,
shove up!' And make twenty of us do the work of sixty, of course
getting the other forty men's money for himself besides his own wages."
"Why, how's that managed, father?" asked Winny quickly.
While Mrs. Chaplin forgot her weariness as she said, "Tell us what you
mean, Tom,—what this sweating is."
"Well, look here, this is how we men get served—for we have it at the
docks as bad as anywhere. We'll say a ship comes in to-morrow morning,
a tea ship perhaps. The labour-master goes and looks at her, and says
to the foreman, 'You'll want sixty for that job.'
"'All right,' says Mr. Foreman, and at eight o'clock, he comes to the
dock gates and picks out the strongest-looking chaps he can find among
us-forty or fifty, perhaps. He takes 'em to the ship, and sets them
to work till half-past ten. And then if they are fagged, and he don't
think they'll be able to keep up the pace he wants them to work at,
he pays them off for two hours' work, and then goes to the gates for
another batch—sixty this time, most likely, because at eleven o'clock
the labour-master will be round to see how they are getting on, and to
see that the number of workers are all right.
"The foreman don't do much in the way of hard work himself; he has
enough to do to look after his gang of labourers, for they'd shirk
their work if they could—if they wasn't looked after. Treat a man like
a dog and you'll only get dog's work out of him. The chap that knows
he's just hired for a couple of hours, and will be put off the job
then, ain't going to take the interest in his work that he ought. Mind,
I ain't saying he ought not, for I know well enough that if a man puts
heart into his work, it's a deal better than just brute strength only;
and that's why so many of us grumble at the way things are managed at
the docks. I tell you it's bad for foremen and labourers too, though
the foremen don't mind so much, as they make money by it. See how
Rutter has got on since he's been foreman," added Chaplin with some
bitterness.
"But how is it they can manage it? I don't understand," interrupted
Winny in an eager tone.
"Well, my girl, it's this way. The foreman is paid by contract. The
ship comes in, and they find out how much cargo there is in the hold to
be got out, and the labour-master can tell to an hour or so how long it
will take sixty or twenty men to get it out, and he says this job will
be so much, five or ten pounds as the case may be, and the foreman has
to pay the labourers out of this contract price. Well, if he can make
forty or fifty men do the work of fifty or sixty by keeping them at a
breakneck pace all the time, and working men only for about an hour, or
two hours while they are fresh, he makes so much more for himself, for,
of course, the contract price is calculated as though he had to pay the
sixty men, instead of the twenty he has made do the work. Now do you
understand, my little woman?" added her father.
The words were not much in themselves, but the tone in which they were
spoken made his wife look at him in a little surprise and alarm; for he
was usually a silent man, at least about his work.
"You never told me this before," she said. "How is it you are so hot
about it now?"
"It was hard work to keep from being hot before, but, don't you see,
I might have said something about it and spoiled my chance of a job;
but now everybody is talking the thing over, for we've had some chaps
down at the dock gates, and they've found out that over and above what
I've told you, the merchants and shippers pay eightpence an hour for
our work, but we only get fivepence, and we've borne this sort of thing
long enough."
His wife looked still more alarmed, for there was a ring of
determination in her husband's tone, and she knew by past experience
that the knitted brow and fierce look with which he banged the table
indicated something unusual, and she was half afraid of what he might
do next. But after looking at his wife for a minute, he turned to his
paper again.
"They say here that it is a shame for poor tailors and nailmakers to
be sweated. So if it is a shame for them, isn't it a shame for us?" he
demanded.
"But look here, Tom. I've heard you say that dockers were just the
poorest of all labourers; that you'd never stop at it if you could get
back to your own trade." Mrs. Chaplin spoke in some perplexity, for she
did not understand her husband being so moved about the low wages, for
he had often said that there were so many more labourers than could
find work, that they must expect wages to be low.
"That's true enough, but still I say that we could do with fewer
foremen, or with an over-looker who should share our work and only
have his fair share of the wages. Then, don't you see, I could earn
sixpence where I only get fivepence now, and when the job was over,
and things came to be totted up, I might get a penny or two more that
goes into a man's pocket now who don't do the work. Don't you see this
too, Martha, we should have the men steadier, and taking more pains
with the work, for they would have an interest in it which they can't
have now they are hunted like dogs. I begin to see from reading here
about what has been going on in the House of Lords, that we ought to
have things altered a bit as well as the tailors and chain-makers. The
chap that comes round sometimes to the gates when we are waiting for a
job has been telling us the same thing, but I only laughed at him, and
so did the rest before. I shall tell 'em to-morrow, though, he's worth
listening to; and it might be he could give us a hint how to get things
altered."
"Things seem to get worse and worse," said his wife with a sigh. "I had
a good bit extra washing to-day, and I thought for sure Mrs. Rutter
would give me a penny or two more; but no, she just give me the bare
eighteen pence, and I was afraid to say a word for fear she should tell
me she could get somebody else to do the work for less money."
"That's just how it is with us poor dockers, and so there seems no help
for us at all."
"Don't say that, Daddy," put in Winny quickly. "Who can tell but
somebody may inquire into the docker's wages as well as the tailor's."
"If my head don't ache till that happens, it won't trouble me as it has
done," said her father.
"It's the rent I'm thinking about," said Mrs. Chaplin, taking the two
silver coins out of the corner of the handkerchief where they were tied
and looking at them.
One shilling and sixpence was all they possessed in the world, and this
was Thursday night. As sure as Monday came, the landlord would arrive
at ten o'clock for the rent, and if the three shillings was not ready,
they would be served with a notice to quit; and to be turned from this
room would mean that they must sink a stage lower in the social scale.
They would have to go where rents were less, and their comfort and
respectability would be seriously impaired, and no one knew how much
this was to Mrs. Chaplin.
That she had seen better days gave her a certain standing with her
neighbours that was as precious as a patent of nobility to the wealthy,
and to go to a street where this would count for little or nothing in
the eyes of its rougher inhabitants, was more than the poor woman could
contemplate calmly. She had buoyed herself up with the hope all day
that her husband would make something like two shillings, then they
could lay this aside and yet have sufficient to get what was necessary
for the replenishing of the cupboard.
To her over-anxious mind, it seemed unfeeling that her husband could be
interested in anything he might read in the newspaper, and forget the
rent that must be provided somehow before next Monday.
That there could be any connection between the two, she quite failed to
see in her narrower vision, and thinking over this as she looked at the
shilling and sixpence on the table, she at length burst into tears, to
Letty's great consternation.
"Mother, mother, don't cry!" exclaimed Winny, trying to stretch out her
arms so as to be able to reach her. "Mother dear, you forget that God
knows all about how bad things are just now, and can send us the rent
ready for next Monday, though it is Thursday night and we haven't got
much towards it."
"We haven't anything," sobbed the poor woman. "We shall want all this
money for bread and tea and a bit of dinner to-morrow."
Winny was silent for a minute or two, but at last she said: "Letty
might get some soup at the mission-hall for a penny a pint, and that
would be cheaper than anything else for dinner."
"And I can get my dinner what I want at the food truck outside the dock
gates for a penny," remarked her husband.
Poor Mrs. Chaplin winced. She had been thinking a good deal to-day
of their past comfort and respectability, and to her it seemed like
charity to take advantage of these cheap food depots, and her tears
flowed afresh at the thought. Still, if the shilling was to be put away
for the rent, it was the only thing they could do with the sixpence,
for upon no other plan could they hope to get sufficient for them all
to have two meals within twenty-four hours.
It was some comfort to her to think that there was something dropped
into the rent-box that stood in the corner drawer, and so she wiped
away her tears and began to prepare for going to bed.
This was an elaborate process, for the bed had to be let down out of
what looked like a wardrobe cupboard during the day, but now disclosed
bed-clothes, beds, and pillows, to say nothing of a long curtain that
was rolled together at the top, and when let down formed a partition
between the two beds, the girls' being made up at the other end of the
room.
There was not much room to move about when the two beds were got into
working order for the night, but then nobody wanted to do more than
creep into bed.
When they were ready, Chaplin lifted Winny from her couch to the
opposite side of the room and Letty helped her take off her clothes,
and very soon three out of the four were sound asleep.
But for Winny there was very little rest that night. Her father had
set her thinking in a fashion that was not pleasant. How could it be
that poor men like her father should not be able to put, as he said,
his heart into his work, and do it, as she knew God would have all work
done, intelligently and heartily. This was certainly the way he would
have all men work, and for things to be managed so that men could not
or would not do this, was to degrade them to the level of beasts of
burden, and certainly ought to be altered somehow.
Surely if these men who could earn so much more money than her poor
father only knew how hard things were for them sometimes, they would be
willing to make some change. For such ways of dealing with men as those
which her father had spoken of were harsh and unrighteous, and God
hated all unrighteousness, and had sent his Son to redeem men from it.
Therefore it was only right that those who were committing the wrong
should be told of it for love's sake, and not merely for the sake of
the poor labourers.
It gave her something to think about and something to pray over. And
very earnestly did the girl pray that night, that somehow God would
show men what to do, so that this might be altered for the sake of the
workers, and also for the sake of those who were so anxious that they
might heap up riches and comforts for themselves at all costs.
How her prayer was to be answered Winny did not think, or even try to
conjecture. God would show them that he could find out the way, and
lead all his servants to judge righteously in this matter.
With this thought in her mind, she at last went to sleep, and did not
wake until her father had gone out to look for work as usual.