"Labour Conquers All."
While over the president's chair, or, as Sim had christened himself,
"the Grand Brother," was a roughly-drawn representation of the familiar
skull and cross bones.
On the table were two stage swords, drawn from their sheaths, and laid
crosswise; and at the door were a couple of sentries, over the said door
being tacked the motto--"Free and Equal."
It was a great night, and every man of Sim's partisans looked solemn,
but mugs of ale and long clay pipes were not excluded from the two
tables, at which sat about a dozen men, as many more standing where they
could find room.
There was a ridiculous aspect to the affair, but mingled with it was a
grim look of determination, and many a stern face there wore an aspect
that Richard Glaire would not have cared to see, even though he might
have scoffed at the meeting, and called the men fools and idiots.
Sim Slee was the great gun of the evening, and he wore his plaid vest
very much open, to display a clean shirt, at the edge of whose front
fold it was observable that Mrs Slee's "scithers" had been at work, to
take off what she termed the "dwiny" ends; but the buttons refused to
remain on terms of intimacy with their holes, with the consequence that
the front gaped widely.
But Sim Slee was too important and excited to notice this, for he was
busy over a book before him, and papers, and constantly in communication
with the tall, heavy-looking man in black, Mr Silas Barker, the
deputation from London, who was to help the brotherhood through their
difficulties, and who had promised to coach and assist Sim in the great
speech he was to make that evening.
At last all seemed about settled, and Sim rose to tap the table with a
small wooden hammer, when he sat down again suddenly, for three loud
knocks were heard at the door.
"Who knocks without?" said the first sentry.
"Brotherly love," said a voice without.
"What does it bring?" said the second sentry.
"Ruin and death," was the reply.
"Enter ruin and death," said the first sentry; the door was opened, two
men entered, Sim Slee looked solemn, and everybody seemed very much
impressed.
The door being closed, and silence procured, Sim Slee rose, and there
was a great deal of tapping on the table, to which Sim bowed, frowned,
and thrust one hand into his vest. At least he meant so to do, but it
went inside the gaping shirt.
"Brother paytriots and sitterzens," he commenced, "I think as we are all
assembled here."
Just then a knocking was heard without.
"Ah, theer's some un else," said Sim, and he sat down, while the
sentries repeated their formula; the voices outside replied in due
order, with the requisite pass-words, and three more entered to swell
the little crowd. Sim then rose again, more important than ever.
"Now, then, brother sitterzens," he began, "as I believe all the
paytriots are here, we will now proceed to business."
"Howd hard a minnit," said Big Harry, who occupied a central position,
"I want another gill o' ale."
Sim hammered the table with his little mallet, and exclaimed angrily,
"Yow can't hev it now: don't you see the brotherhood is setting?"
"'Arf on 'em's a stanning," said Big Harry, with a grin; "and if you're
goin' to hev all this dry wuck, I must wet it."
"Hee-ar! hee-ar!" shouted two or three voices.
"But don't yow see as the brotherhood is a setting?" cried Sim. "The
door is closed now, and we're in secret conclave."
"I don't keer nowt about no secret concave," growled Big Harry. "A mun
hev another gill o' ale."
"Let's hev some more drink, then," cried several voices.
"Yow can't, I tell you," cried Sim. "We're a setting wi' closed doors."
"Open 'em, then," said Harry, "or I will. Here, summun, a gill o' ale."
"And I wants some 'bacco," said another voice.
Sim hammered away at the board for a bit, when Harry exclaimed, leaning
his great arms on the table, and grinning,
"Say, lads, I niver see owd Simmy handle a harmmer like that up at th'
wucks."
"Silence!" roared Sim, in the midst of a hearty laugh from the men.
"Fellow paytriots and sitterzens, as Grand Brother of this order, I
say--eh, what?"
Sim leaned down to the deputation, who had pulled his sleeve.
"Better let them have in the drink," whispered Mr Barker, "it makes 'em
more trackable."
"All raight," said Sim, in an ill-used tone. "Here, send out for what's
wanted, you two at the door, for no one isn't to enter."
There was a bustle at the door after this, and various orders were
shouted downstairs, and eagerly responded to by the landlord, who wanted
to bring all in, but was stayed by the sentries.
"Here, I say," said Sim to Mr Barker, "I shall lose all that speech
'fore I begin, if I have to wait much longer."
"I'll prompt you," said Barker.
"Eh?" said Sim.
"I'll prompt you--help you."
"Oh, all right; thankey. Kiver up them motters till the door's shoot
close," he continued aloud; but as the door was on the point of being
closed, Sim's order was not obeyed; and the ale and tobacco being handed
to those who demanded them, Sim once more rose to begin, but only for a
fresh clamour to arise from another party, whose "moogs" were empty, and
while these were being filled, the swords were covered with a coat, and
the mottoes turned to the wall.
At length all were satisfied, and Sim Slee rose for the speech of the
evening.
"Brother workmen, mates, paytriots, and fellow sitterzens o' Doomford--"
"He--ar, he--ar!"
"We are met here to-night, honoured by the presence o' Brother Silas
Barker."
"He--ar, he--ar," and a "hooray."
"And Brother Silas Barker is delicate, from the payrent lodge o'
Brothers in London."
"Drink along o' me, mate," growled Big Harry, holding out his mug to the
deputation, "that'll keep you from being delicate."
"You, Harry," cried Sim, "don't interrupt. You ain't one of our most
trustworthy brothers. You've fote on the wrong side afore now."
"I'll faight yow for a gill o' ale any day, Simmy Slee," said Harry,
winking solemnly across the table at a mate.
"Don't you int'rupt the meeting wi' ignorant remarks," said Sim, taking
no notice of the challenge. "I said delicate fro' the--fro' the--"
"Payrent society," said Mr Barker, prompting.
"All raight, I know," said Sim, pettishly; "fro' payrent society. Came
down to Doomford to tell us suff'ring wuckmen as the eyes o' the Bri'sh
wucking man i' London and all the world is upon us."
There was vociferous cheering at this, during which Big Harry
confidentially informed his mate across the table, that he'd "Tak' Sim
Slee wi' one hand tied behind him, and t'other chap, too, one down and
t'other come on."
"We're met together here, mates--met together," continued Sim, whose
flow of oratory had not yet begun, but who was gradually warming--"met
together, mates, to bring things to a big crisis, and let the thunder of
the power of the sons of labour--"
"Here, let's hev in some more ale," shouted some one at the other end.
"Why can't yow be quiet? interrupting that how," cried Sim,
remonstrating. "Yow can't hev no more ale till the debate's ended. Do
you want to hev the mummy--mummy--"
"Course we don't," said Big Harry, aloud. "But who's him?"
"I say," cried Sim, angrily, "do you want to have the mummy--mummy"--
then angrily to Barker, "Why don't you tell a fellow?"
"Myrmidons--myrmidons of"--whispered Barker.
"All raight, all raight," said Sim, impatiently, "I know--mummy--
mummidons of a brutal holygarchy down upon us?"
"And hale us off," whispered Barker, for Sim had evidently forgotten his
speech.
"Yes, yes, I know," whispered Sim. Then aloud, "And hale us off--"
"Hear, hear!" roared Harry, hammering his empty mug on the table;
"raight, lad, raight. Here, sum un, tell the mummy to bring the ale."
"Sit down, Harry," shouted Sim. "I say hale us off to fresh chains and
slavery. I say, mates," cried Sim, now growing excited, and waving his
hands about, "as the holygartchy of a brutal mummidom."
"No, no," whispered Barker, behind his hand, "Myrmidons of a brutal
oligarchy."
"Yes, yes, I know," cried Sim; "but they don't. It's all the same to
them. Yes, mates, a brutal mummidom, and a holygartchy, and as I was a
saying, our fellow sittyzens in London have been a wackin o' 'em oop.
They've gone arm in arm, in their horny-handed strength, like brave sons
of tyle, with gentlemen playing their bands o' music."
"Hear, hear!"
"And colours flying--"
"Hear, hear!" and a great deal of mug rattling on the table.
"And made Pall Mall--Pall Mall--Pall Mall--"
"Hear, hear!"
"Go on," whispered Barker, "that's it--echo to their warlike tread."
"Echo to the warlike tread o' their heavy boots," cried Sim, banging his
hand down upon the table.
"Hear, hear!"
"Till the bloated holygarchs a sitting in theer bloated palluses
abloating theer sens."
"Brayvo, lad," shouted Big Harry; "that's faine."
"Set down and shouthered wi' fear," continued Sim; "as they--as they--do
be a bit sharper," he whispered to Barker.
"Saw the nation rising in its might," whispered the prompter.
"Saw the nation rising up wi' all its might and main," cried Sim. Then
to Barker, "Shall I put it into 'em now?"
"Yes, yes; they're ripe enough," was the answer.
"And now, mates," continued Sim, "it's time as we rose up in our might,
and showed him as is starving our wives and bairns what we can do when
we're trampled down, and that like the wums as is tread on, we can turn
and sting the heel o' the oppressors."
"Good, good! Go on," said the deputation, rubbing its hands.
"Are we to see a maulkin like Dickey Glaire, because he is an employer,
always getting fat on the sweat of a pore man's brow?"
"Go on! go on! Capital!" whispered Barker. "Fine himage."
"What's a himage?" said Sim, stopped in his flow.
"All right, go on, man," whispered Barker; "I only said fine himage."
"As my friend and brother the deppitation says," continued Sim, "Dicky
Glaire's a fine image to sit on all us like an old man o' the
mountains."
"No, no, I didn't," whispered Barker.
"You did," whispered Sim. "I heerd you."
"Go on," whispered back Barker; "the time has come--go on; beautiful."
"And the time has come to go on beautiful," said Sim, waving his arms.
"No, no," whispered Barker.
"I wish yow'd howd thee tongue altogether," whispered Sim. "You do nowt
but put me out."
"Go on, brayvo!" cried the men.
"Now, don't you interrupt me no more," whispered Sim, in an aggrieved
tone; "that aint a bit like as you writ it down, and I shall say it my
own way-er. And, mates," he continued aloud, "the time has come when
we've got to tak' our heads from under the despot's heels, when we've
got to show 'em 'ow they depends upon the sons of tyle; and teach 'em as
all men's ekal, made o' the same flesh and blood, eddication or no
eddication; and if Dickey Glaire won't gi'e uz a fair day's wuck for a
fair day's pay."
"No, no, other way on," whispered the deputation.
"You let me alone; I'm getting on better wi'out you," whispered Sim.
Then aloud, "They'll hev' to change places wi' us, and see how they like
it then. Now, who's that?" cried Sim, as a loud knocking was heard. "A
man can't get a word in edgeways."
"Who knocks wi'out?" cried the first sentry.
"Open the door," said a loud voice.
"Who knocks wi'out?" said the sentry again.
"Open the door, fool!" said the rough voice again.
"Give the pass-word," said the sentry.
"Open the door before I kick it down," cried the voice.
"Look out, lads," cried Sim, excitedly, as he left the chair. "It's the
police. Tak down them flags, and shove the swords out o' sight. It's
the police."
There was a rush, and the flags were hurriedly pulled down and folded
up, while the swords were placed under the table.
"Open this door," cried the same loud voice, and a heavy fist was
applied to the panel.
"You can't come in, I tell you," cried one of the sentries angrily.
"This room's private."
"You'd better tell them to open the door," said the deputation. "They
can't touch you; we're within the law. It's a society meeting. Take
your seat."
"Open the door, then," said Sim, reluctantly resuming his place, when,
as the door was thrown back, in came Joe Banks, closely followed by Tom
Podmore.
"Hooray, lads!" cried Sim, enthusiastically. "I always said as he
would. It's Joe Banks come to join us at last, along wi' Tom Podmore."
Volume 3, Chapter III.