Banks, the foreman, stayed late at the foundry on the night of the
disturbance. His master remained in the counting-house smoking cigars
till he was very white and ill, feelings which he attributed to the
assault made upon him that day--a very sudden one by the way, and one
which had arisen, as has been intimated, on account of a rather unfair
reduction that had been made in the rate of pay.
But this was not all, for the fact was, that after being left to go on
in its quiet, old-fashioned way for years, probably from its
insignificance, Dumford had suddenly been leavened by Sim Slee with a
peculiar version of his own of the trades-union doctrines of some of the
larger towns--doctrines which he had altered to suit his own ends.
Hence arose a society which was the pride of Sim Slee, and known amongst
the workmen as the Brotherhood. Meetings were held regularly, speeches
made, and Simeon Slee, who heretofore had confined himself to idleness,
drink, and local preaching, till expelled as a disgrace to the plan,
became a shining light in the brotherhood, on account of what the more
quiet workmen called his power of putting things, though the greater
part held aloof, from the contempt in which this leader was held.
In previous days, with one or two exceptions, the word of the master of
the works had been law, and wages were raised or lowered as trade
flourished or fell, with nothing more than a few murmurs; but now times
were altered, men had begun to think for themselves, and the behaviour
of Richard Glaire had grown so arbitrary and unjust that the consequence
was the riot we have seen.
Richard Glaire was about as unsuitable a person as it is possible to
imagine to have such a responsibility as the management of a couple of
hundred men; but he did not believe this, and he sat, after the
departure of his mother, nursing his wrongs, and making plans for the
punishment of his workmen.
At one time he was for having the assistance of the military, but as he
cooled down he was obliged to acknowledge that his request would be
ridiculed.
Then he determined on getting summonses against about twenty of the
ringleaders, whom he meant to discharge.
Once he called Banks, and asked him what it would be best to do.
"Put the wage right again," said the foreman.
Whereupon Richard Glaire turned upon him in a burst of childish passion,
and declared that he was in league with the scoundrels who had assaulted
him.
"There, I shall go till you've had time to cool down," said Banks,
grimly. "Your metal's hot, Master Richard, and it wean't be raight
again till you've had a night's rest."
Richard made no reply, but sat biting his lips and making plans till
dusk, when he cautiously stole out of the building by a side door, of
which he alone had the key.
Banks stayed on for another couple of hours, plodding about the
building, examining doors, the extinct forges and furnaces, looking at
the bands of the huge lathes, and displaying a curious kind of energy,
as by means of a small bull's-eye lantern he peered in and out of all
sorts of out-of-the-way places.
"There's no knowing what games Master Sim might try on," he remarked to
himself; "blowings up and cutting bands, and putting powther in the
furnace holes; he's shack enew for ought, and I dessay some on 'em will
be stupid enough to side wi' him. What's that?"
He stopped and listened, for it seemed to him that he had heard a noise
below him in the ground floor.
The sound was not repeated, so he went on cautiously through the great
black workshop, with its weird assemblage of shafts, cranks, and bands,
looking, in the fitful gleams cast by the lantern, like a
torture-chamber in the fabled Pandemonium.
A stranger would have tripped and fallen a dozen times over the
metal-cumbered floor; but every inch and every piece of machinery was so
familiar to the foreman that he could have gone about the place
blindfold, even as he did once or twice in the dark when he closed his
bull's-eye lantern, thinking he heard a noise.
All seemed right in this workshop, so he descended to the foundry, going
over it and amongst the furnaces, now growing cold.
Then he threaded his way amongst the sunken moulds for castings; looked
up at the cranes, paused before the massive crucibles used for melting
bell-metal or ingots for the great steel bells, and ended by stopping
again to listen.
"I'll sweer I heerd a noise," he muttered, taking a short constable's
staff from his pocket, and twisting its stout leather thong round his
wrist. "It will be strange and awkward for somebody if I find him
playing any of his tricks here."
He went cautiously on tip-toe in the direction from which the noise had
seemed to come, going up a short ladder to a raised portion of the
foundry, which formed an open floor where lighter work was done.
He advanced very cautiously in the dark, holding his staff ready to
deliver a blow, or guard his head, and the next minute there was the
sound of some tool being moved on a bench, and then something alighted
at his feet, setting up a soft purring and beginning to rub up against
his legs.
"Why, Tommy," he said, "you scar'd me, my boy. It was you, was it?
After rats, eh, Tommy? Poor old puss, then."
He turned on his lantern, took a good look round, and then, apparently
satisfied, he pulled out an old-fashioned silver watch and consulted its
face.
"Eight o'clock, eh? Why, they'll think at home that I'm lost."
As he spoke he made his light play round for a few minutes, and then,
apparently satisfied, he put it out, placed the lamp on a shelf, and
went out and across the yard to the kind of lodge, where a man was
waiting to take the duty of the watchman for the night.
"All raight, Mester Banks?"
"All right, Rolf," was the reply. "I've been all round."
Directly after the old foreman was on his way homeward, but he had
hardly taken a dozen strides down the lane under the wall, before the
head of Simeon Slee was cautiously raised above the edge of one of the
great crucibles, or melting-pots, and then for a time he remained
motionless.
"You're a clever one, Joe Banks, you are," he said at last, as he raised
himself up and sat on the edge of the great pot. "You can find out
everything, yow can; you can trample on the raights of the British
wucking-man, and get the independent spirits discharged, eh? But you're
one of the ungodly bitter ones, and you must be smitten wherever you
can. Let's see how the wuck 'll go on to-morrow."
The speaker threw his legs over the side, and then paused to dust his
trousers and his coat before proceeding further.
"It's hot lying in hiding there," he muttered, pulling off his coat and
rolling up his sleeves. "I have to toil and moil like a slave for the
cause."
His next proceeding was to open a great clasp knife and try its edge,
which was keen as that of a razor; and then, armed with this, and quite
as much at home in the works as the foreman, he went about with lithe
steps as cautious as a cat, and, cutting through the bands that
connected the wheels of the lathes with the great shaft that set them in
motion, he dragged them down and piled them together till he had
collected a goodly heap.
This was not accomplished all at once, and with ease, for, setting aside
the watchfulness with which the task had to be done, and the care to
ensure silence, the bands were heavy, hard to cut, and they had to be
borne some distance. Altogether it took Sim Slee a good hour's arduous
labour, and he perspired profusely. In fact, it was his habit to take
more pains to achieve a bad end than would have sufficed to get a good
living twice over.
"Phew! it's hot," he muttered in one of his pauses, during which he ran
to the nearest door, and listened. "What a slave I am to the cause."
Then he chuckled and laughed over the mischief he had done, and ended by
laboriously dragging all the great leather bands and straps to the
uncovered hole of a furnace, down which he dropped them, so that they
fell far back from the mouth below, which opened on the stoke-hole; and
he knew that the chances were ten to one that if the present heat did
not destroy them, a fire would be lit by the careless stokers, and the
bands consumed before they were missed, as, if business were resumed on
the following day, the firemen would be there long before the ordinary
workers.
"Theer," said Sim, when he had finished, "I wonder what Joe Banks would
say now if he knew o' this?"
He resumed his coat, out of the pocket of which he took a piece of
strong line, some fifteen feet long, and walked cautiously, listening
the while, towards one of the windows which looked down on the lane, one
side of which was formed by the works and the wall of the yard, and from
which the little door before mentioned gave access to the proprietor's
private room in the counting-house.
Sim Slee had entered by this window, being a light, active man, and he
was about to descend from it, and make his escape by hitching the strong
light steel hook attached to the end of his rope to the sill, just as he
had entered by throwing it up till it caught, it being so constructed
that a sharp wave sent along the slackened rope would set it free. But
before descending Sim stood, rope in hand, listening, watched by the cat
at a respectable distance, that sage black animal being evidently
impressed with the fact that the intruder in the works was wonderfully
rat-like in his actions.
Tommy did not approach him, nor yet purr, but crouched there watching
while Sim stood with one ear close to the window, then sharply turned
his head and thrust it out into the night air, drew it back again as
sharply, and then cautiously thrust it out once more, so that unseen he
could see and listen to what went on below.
For there were two figures just below the opening, and as Sim listened,
holding his breath, one of them exclaimed:
"I won't, I won't, Mr Richard, and you've no business to ask me."
"_Mr_. Richard," said the other, reproachfully; "I thought it was to be
Dick--your own Dick."
"Oh, don't--don't--don't talk like that," sobbed the other. "Oh, I wish
I really, really knew whether you meant it all."
"Meant it all, Daisy! how can you be so cruel, when you know how dearly
I love you? But come into the counting-house, and we can sit there and
talk."
"I can't--I won't!" said Daisy; "and you know you oughtn't to ask me,
Mr Richard. What would father say if he were to hear of it?"
"Father would only be too pleased," whispered the young man, "for he
believes in me, if you don't, Daisy. He'd like you to be my own
beautiful darling little wife, that I should make a lady."
"But, do you really, really mean it, Mr Richard?" said Daisy, with a
hysterical sob.
"`Really mean it! Mr Richard!'" said the young fellow, reproachfully.
"Oh, Daisy, have you so mean an opinion of me? Do you take me for a
contemptible liar?"
"Oh no, no, no," sobbed the girl; "but they say--I always thought--I
believed that you were engaged to Miss Eve."
"A poor puny thing," said Richard, in a contemptuous tone; "and besides,
she's my cousin."
"But she thinks you love her," said Daisy.
"Poor thing!" laughed Richard.
"And I believe you love her."
"Indeed I don't, nor anybody else but you, you beautiful little rosebud.
Oh, Daisy, Daisy, how can you be so cruel!"
"I'm not, I'm not cruel," sobbed poor Daisy; "but I want to do what's
right."
"Of course," whispered Richard. "But come along, let's go in the
counting-house--to my room--it's safer there."
"I won't, I won't," cried Daisy, indignantly. "At such a time of night,
too! You oughtn't to ask me."
"I only asked you for your own sake," said Richard, "because people
might talk if they saw you with me here."
"Oh yes," sobbed Daisy; "and they would. I must go."
"Stop a moment," said Richard, catching her wrist. "Perhaps, too, it
was a little for my own sake, because the men are so furious against
me."
"Oh yes, I heard," cried Daisy, with her voice shaking; "but they did
not hurt you to-day?"
"Not hurt me!" said Richard. "Why, they nearly killed me."
"No, no," sobbed Daisy.
"But they did; and they would if I hadn't been rescued."
Daisy suppressed a hysterical cry, and Richard passed his arm round her
little waist, and drew her to him.
"Then you do love me a little, Daisy?" he whispered.
"No, no, I don't think I do," sobbed the girl, without, however, trying
to get away. "I believe you were going to meet Miss Eve this morning,
and were disappointed because I was there."
"Indeed I was not," said Richard. "But I'm sure you were expecting to
see that great hulking hound, Tom Podmore."
"That I was not," cried Daisy, impetuously; "and I won't have you speak
like that of poor Tom, for I've behaved very badly to him, and he's a
good--good, worthy fellow."
"`Poor Tom!'" said Richard, with a sigh. "Ah, Daisy, Daisy."
"Don't, Mr Richard, please," sobbed Daisy, who was crying bitterly.
"`Poor Tom--Mr Richard,'" said the young man, as if speaking to
himself.
"Don't, don't, Mr Richard, please."
"`Mr Richard.'"
"Well, Dick, then. But there, I must go now."
"Not just now, darling Daisy," whispered Richard, passionately. "Come
with me--here we are close by the door."
"No, no, indeed I will not," cried Daisy, firmly.
"Not when I tell you it isn't safe for me to be in the streets at night,
for fear some ruffian should knock out my brains?"
"Oh, Dick, dear Dick, don't say so."
"But I'm obliged to," he said, trying to draw her along, but she still
resisted.
"I wouldn't have you hurt for the world," she sobbed; "but, Richard--
Dick, do you really, really love me as much as you have said?"
"Ten thousand times more, my darling, or I shouldn't have been running
horrible risks to-night to keep my appointment with you."
"And you--you want to make me your wife, Richard--to share everything
with you?"
"You know I do, darling," he cried, in a low, hoarse whisper.
"Then, Dick, dear, it wouldn't be proper respect to your future wife to
take me there to your works at this time of night," said the girl,
simply, as she clung to him.
"Not when the streets are unsafe?" he cried.
"Let's part now, directly," said Daisy. "I would sooner die than any
one should hurt you, Richard; but you'd never respect your wife if she
had no respect for herself. Good night, Richard."
"There, I was right," he cried, petulantly, as he snatched himself away.
"You do still care for Tom."
"No, no, Dick, dear Dick. I don't a bit," sobbed the girl. "Don't,
pray don't, speak to me like that."
"Then will you come with me--only because it isn't safe here?" whispered
Richard.
"No, no," sobbed the girl, firmly, "I can't do that, and if you loved me
as you said, you wouldn't ask me."
"Bah!" ejaculated Richard, angrily. "Go to your dirty, grimy lout of a
lover then;" and as the girl clung to him he thrust her rudely away.
Sim Slee, more rat-like than ever, had been rubbing his hands together
with delight, as he looked down at the dimly-seen figures, and overheard
every word.
"There'll be a faight, and Dicky Glaire will be bunched about
strangely," muttered Sim, as Daisy gave a faint scream, for a figure
strode out of the darkness.
"She wouldn't have far to go," said the figure, hoarsely.
"Tom!" cried Daisy, shrinking to the wall.
"Yes, it's Tom, sure enew," said the new-comer. "Daisy Banks, it's time
thou wast at home, and I'm goin' to see thee theer."
"How dare you interfere, you insolent scoundrel!" cried Richard,
striding forward; but he stopped short as Tom drew himself up.
"Look ye here, Richard Glaire--Mester Richard Glaire," said Tom,
hoarsely, "I'm goin' to tak' Daisy Banks home to her father wi'out
touching of you; but if yow try to stop me, I'll finish the job as I
stopped them lads from doing this morning. Now go home while you're
raight, for it wean't be safe to come a step nigher."
Richard Glaire drew back, while the young fellow took Daisy by the
wrist, and drew her arm through his own, striding off directly, but
stopping as Richard cried:
"You cowardly eavesdropper; you heard every word."
"Just about," said Tom, coolly; "I come to tak' care o' Daisy here; and
if she'd said `Yes,' by the time yow'd got the key of your private door
theer, I should ha' knocked thee down and had my foot o' thee handsome
face, Mester."
He strode off, Daisy having hard work to keep up with him, sobbing the
while, till they were near her home, when she made an effort to cease
crying, wiped her eyes, and broke the silence.
"Did--did you hear what I said, Tom?" she whispered.
"Ivery word, lass, but I only recollect one thing."
"What was that?"
"That thou did'st not love me a bit."
Daisy gave a sob.
"You mustn't mind, Tom," she said, in a low voice, "for I'm a bad,
wretched girl."
"I should spoil the face of any man who said so to me," he said,
passionately; and then he relapsed into his quiet, moody manner.
"There's plenty of better girls than me, Tom, will be glad to love you,"
she said.
"Yes," he said, softly, "plenty;" and then with a simple pathos he
continued bitterly, "and I've got plenty more hearts to give i' place o'
the one as you've 'bout broke."
Daisy's breath came with a catch, and they went on in silence for a
time--a silence that the girl herself broke.
"Tom," she said, hoarsely, and he gave quite a start. "Tom, are you
going to tell mother and father what you've heard and seen?"
"No, lass," he said, sadly, "I'm not o' that sort. I came to try and
take care o' thee, not as I've any call to now. Thou must go thy own
gate, for wi' such as thou fathers and mothers can do nowt. If Dick
Glaire marries thee, I hope thou'lt be happy. If he deceives thee--"
"What, Tom?" whispered the girl, in an awe-stricken tone, for her
companion was silent.
"I shall murder him, and be hung out of my misery," said Tom. "There's
your door, lass. Go in."
He waited till the door closed upon her, and then strode off into the
darkness.
Meanwhile Sim Slee leaned cautiously from the window watching Richard,
who stood now just beneath him, grinding his teeth with impotent rage as
he saw Daisy disappear.
"Why didn't that fool smash the lungeing villain!" said Slee to himself;
and then he leaned a little further out.
"I'd like to drop one of these ingots on his head, only it would be
mean--Yah! go on, you tyrant and oppressor and robber of the poor, and--
oh, my! what a lark!" he said, drawing in his head as Richard Glaire
disappeared, when he threw himself on the floor, hugging himself and
rolling about in ecstasy, while the cat on a neighbouring lathe set up
its back, swelled its tail, and stared at him with dilated eyes.
"Here's a lark!" said Sim again. "Why, we shall get owd Joe Banks over
to our side. Oh yes, of course he sides with the mesters, he does. He
hates trades unions, he does. He says my brotherhood's humbug, and he's
too true to his master to side wi' such as me. Ho, ho, ho! I shall
hev' you, Joe Banks, and you'll bring the rest. I shall hev' you; and
if you ain't enrolled at the Bull before a month's out, my name ain't
Simeon Slee."
"Let me see," said Sim, sitting up sedately and brushing the dirt from
his coat, "I've to speak at Churley o' Tuesday. I'll let 'em have it
about suthing as 'll fit exact to the case. An' it's a wonderful power
is speech. Hey! that it is."
He looked out and listened for a few minutes, and then, all being
apparently clear, he placed his knee on the window-sill, slid down the
rope, gave it a jerk which set the hook free, caught it nimbly, and
rolling the line up, went on preening and brushing himself still like a
rat till he reached the Bull and Cucumber, where he was received by the
party assembled with a good deal of pot-rattling on the table.
It fell to him, as has been intimated, to make a speech or two that
night, for the affairs of the day were largely discussed; and in the
course of his delivery he named no names, he said, leastwise he did not
say it weer, nor he didn't say it weern't Joe Banks, foreman at the
foundry, but what he did say was that there was more unlikely things on
the cards than for a certain person to jine their ranks, and become one
of a brotherhood of which every man there was proud.
"Well, I don't know so much about that, Sim Slee," said one of the men.
"This here don't seem like the societies that we hear on."
"What do you mean?" said Sim.
"Mean! Why, as instead of our being joined sensible like to get what's
reasonable fro' the master, we comes here to hear thee spout."
"That's your ignorance, Peter Thorndike," said Sim. "Yow'd like to be
head man pr'haps, and tak' the lead."
"Nay," said the man, "I want to tak' no leads, for I can't talk like
thee; but I want what's sensible and raight for both sides, and I don't
see as we're agoing to get it by calling ourselves brothers, and takking
oaths, and listening to so much o' thy blather."
"Peter Thorndike," said Sim, folding his arms like an image of Napoleon
at St Helena, "thou'rt only a child yet, and hast much to learn. Don't
I tell thee as afore long Joe Banks 'll be over on our side, and a great
time coming for Dicky Glaire?"
"Yes, you telled me," growled the man, "but I don't know as I believe
it. I wants what's fair, and that's what we all wants, eh, lads?"
"Yes, yes," chorused the others. "Then you shall have it," said Sim,
raising one hand to speak.
"I' words," said Thorndike, "and they don't make owt to yeat. Sim Slee,
your brotherhood's all a sham."
Volume 1, Chapter XI.