THE MILL-HANDS "STRIKE."
IT was a Saturday evening towards the end of November. The six o'clock
bell had rung, and the "hands," both men and women, were streaming out
of Rayleigh Mill. The atmosphere was raw and cold, yet the work-people
did not hasten to their homes, as they were wont to do. They gathered
in knots outside the gates, talking eagerly. Some of the faces were
flushed and triumphant, some pale and anxious-looking; but each told
of unusual excitement. The younger people shouted and laughed; but
their elders, especially the women, looked troubled. They were thinking
forebodingly of empty cupboards and fireless grates.
As the last band of workers passed through the gates, the crowd broke
into a loud "Hurrah!" The mill-hands had come out "on strike," and
unless Philip Darnell yielded to their demands—which he had vowed he
would not do—not one would enter the mill on Monday morning.
Amongst his employés, there was only one who had refused to join the
strike, and that was the young clerk, Gus Rew. In vain, the men had
urged him to forsake his post; in vain, when persuasions failed, had
they resorted to threats. Gus was happy in his work, and satisfied with
his pay; besides, he knew that Sebastian Mouncey disapproved of the
action of the men. Had they listened to his counsel, their position
might have been improved without such an exhibition of between master
and men; but they had turned from their old friend to listen to the
florid rhetoric and ardent appeals of a trade-unionist from London.
The mill-hands had passed out, and one of the great gates was already
closed when Gus appeared, accompanied by Mr. Ellary.
"Here's that conceited youngster," muttered one of the men. "Hang it!
He has Ellary with him, or we'd give him a jacketing."
"He shall have it yet," said another; "we'll flog the impudence out of
the young sneak. He shall learn not to set himself against those older
and wiser than himself."
"You had better leave the boy alone, I can tell you; it'll be the
worse for any man who lays a finger upon him," said a tall, stalwart
young fellow who stood near. The appearance of Gus' champion was so
formidable that the men turned away, and uttered no more threats.
As Gus passed through the crowd, unconscious of the ill-will he had
excited, an old man caught him by the hand, and said kindly, with
lowered voice, "Gus, lad, you must join us. There are men ready to do
you a mischief if you hold out. Their blood's up, and they don't care
what they do. Come, lad, why should you turn against your old friends?
Why risk your life for the sake of that scoundrel?"
"I will never turn against old friends; Mike, and as to risking my
life, I cannot believe that any of the men would really do me harm.
Why should they? They know I am their friend. But I cannot see that it
would be right of me to throw up my work. I have no grievance."
"You might take up their grievances. It looks as if you had no feeling,
to hold yourself aloof."
"Indeed I do feel for them," said Gus, looking troubled, "and so does
Mr. Mouncey; but—"
"Oh, parson's agin us too. Parsons always take the side of the rich
against the poor."
"That's not true," said Gus, with a touch of indignation in his tone.
"No one feels for the poor more than Mr. Mouncey. But he thinks the men
have been too hasty."
"Oh yes; of course we're in the wrong," said Mike. "But, Gus, these men
have been drinking; you had better take yourself out of their way."
Three of the roughest, most disreputable of the workmen were
approaching. The dark scowl on the face of the foremost and his
clenched fist boded no good to Gus; but the boy made no movement to
escape. His blue eyes looked fearlessly into the angry eyes bent on
him, and the calm, strong glance had its power. The man shrank and
swerved before it as an animal might have done; his hand fell to his
side, he muttered some contemptuous words about "a bit of a lad,"' and
passed on with his comrades, one of whom dropped a large stone he had
taken up, with the intention of hurling it at Gus.
"'Pon my word, you're no coward, lad!" cried Mike admiringly.
Rayleigh Mill looked dreary enough on Monday morning. Not a workman
was in sight as Gus walked up to the gates at eight o'clock; but some
one, unseen, was watching him, for suddenly a stone struck him on the
temple, a little above the eye, with such force that the blood poured
down his face. He stood outside the closed gates, trying to staunch the
blood with his handkerchief, when Mr. Ellary came up.
"Who has done this, lad?" asked Mr. Ellary, with anger in his glance.
"I do not know, sir; no one was in sight when I looked round."
"A coward, whoever he was, to wound a lad for doing his duty! It is a
mercy it missed your eye."
"Yes," said Gus, shivering from the shock.
"Poor boy!" said Mr. Ellary, as he drew out his keys and prepared to
open the gate for himself, the gate-keeper having struck with the rest.
"But the cut is not deep, I trust. There is lint and plaster in the
office, and I will try what I can do as a surgeon."
The office was unswept, the fire unlit. The woman who was wont to
perform those duties dared not put in an appearance that morning; so,
as soon as Mr. Ellary had dressed his wound, Gus, though still feeling
dizzy and sick, set to work to make a fire and put the place in order,
whilst Mr. Ellary opened the letters and despatched a telegram to
Philip Darnell.
Gus found many new tasks to perform that morning, and the time sped
quickly. Soon after noon, Mr. Darnell appeared on the scene. He was
much annoyed at what had occurred, but he was determined to carry
matters with a high hand. The men should learn that he was not to be
forced to do as they pleased. He would show himself master of the
situation, and manage to work the mill without the help of the strikers.
Philip Darnell was conferring with the manager in his private room,
when glancing through the window he saw Sebastian Mouncey approaching
the office. A flush of anger mounted to his forehead. He had always
disliked the clergyman; now he regarded him as the friend and supporter
of the men. Doubtless he had come to urge their cause, and set forth
their grievances. Instantly Darnell decided that he would not listen to
the parson, would not even see him.
"Gus," he said, stepping quickly into the outer office, "Mr. Mouncey is
at the door. Tell him I cannot see him. Say I am not here."
Gus looked at him in amazement.
"But, sir," he began to speak, then paused.
"Well, what?" demanded his employer angrily, as Mr. Mouncey's knock was
heard.
"You are here, sir."
"I suppose I know that as well as you do; but I wish you to tell him I
am not here. Say that I have returned to London."
"I cannot say that, sir," replied Gus, flushing.
"You cannot? How dare you answer me like that? Do as I bid you at once."
"I cannot," said Gus, speaking more firmly. "I will not tell a lie!"
A stinging box on the ears sent him reeling to the other side of the
room.
"Take that!" roared Philip Darnell. "Take that for answering me with
such impudence!"
His upraised voice brought Mr. Ellary in haste from the other room. At
the sight of his astonished face, Mr. Darnell made an effort to recover
his dignity.
"This young cur has grossly insulted me," he said. "Send him about his
business at once. I refuse to have him longer in my employ. Why did he
not join the strikers? He is one with them at heart. He only stayed
that he might act the part of a sneak, a spy. Pay him, and send him off
at once. I insist on it."
At this moment a succession of sharp knocks on the outer door showed
that Mr. Mouncey was growing impatient.
"There's that stupid, meddlesome parson!" burst out Darnell in fresh
anger. "Why can't he attend to his own business, and let mine alone?
You must see him, Ellary; I will not. Go and send hint away somehow.
Tell him I refuse to listen to any compromise, or to make any terms
with the men."
Ellary, with a troubled face, went out, and Philip Darnell retreated
into the inner room. He watched till he saw Sebastian Mouncey, with a
grave, stern look on his usually cheerful face, pass out of the yard.
A little later Gus went out, and took his way to the cottage where he
lived. He was somewhat soothed by a few kind, regretful words from Mr.
Ellary; yet the boy's heart was sore and angry. A sense of injustice
burned within him.
After all—so it seemed to him for a moment—he might as well have joined
the strikers. Surely, now, it was only natural that he should hate
Philip Darnell. He had shown himself his enemy, as he had been his
father's enemy in days gone by. A fierce longing for revenge awoke in
Gus' heart. For a while he was wholly possessed by angry, resentful
feelings; but better thoughts succeeded. Like a breath of pure air from
the eternal hills came to his mind the gentle words of Jesus:
"'I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good
to them that hate you, and pray for them that despitefully use you and
persecute you.'"
Gus paused ere he reached the cottage, and stood still in deep thought,
suddenly, painfully convicted of duty. Oh, it were easier to forgive
the man who threw the stone which gashed his forehead, than the one who
had so misunderstood him, who had called him a sneak and a spy! Yet he
must forgive both. He must put all hatred, all bitterness, out of his
heart.
How hard it was to be a gentleman in any degree like Jesus Christ! So
hard it seemed, that Gus well-nigh despaired of such attainment; yet he
felt that there was nothing else in life worth striving after. He could
be satisfied with nothing less.