Some few, and but a few, had jackets and hats. Their coarse shirts
were entirely open at the neck, and their hair looked, as if a comb
had seldom, if ever, been applied! The girls, as well as Blincoe could
recollect, were, like the boys, destitute of shoes and stockings. Their
locks were pinned up, and they were without caps; very few had on, either
jacket or gown; but wore, what, in London, are called pinafores; in
Lancashire, bishops!—that is, long aprons with sleeves, made of coarse
linen, that reached from the neck to the heels. Blincoe was no less
terrified at the sight of the pale, lean, sallow-looking multitude, than
his nostrils were offended by a dense and heavy smell of rank oil or
grease, that arose at their appearance! By comparison, the new comers
appeared like so many ladies and gentlemen. On their first entrance,
some of the old apprentices took a view of the strangers; but the great
bulk first looked after their supper, which consisted of new potatoes,
distributed at a hatch door, that opened into the common room from the
kitchen. At a signal given, the apprentices rushed to this door, and
each, as he made way, received his portion, and withdrew to his place at
the table. Blincoe was startled, seeing the boys pull out the fore-part
of their shirts, and holding it up with both hands, received the hot
boiled potatoes allotted for their supper. The girls, less indecently,
if not less filthily, held up their dirty greasy bishops or aprons, that
were saturated with grease and dirt, and having received their allowance,
scampered off as hard as they could, to their respective places, where,
with a keen appetite, each apprentice devoured her allowance, and seemed
anxiously to look about for more. Next, the hungry crew ran to the tables
of the new comers, and voraciously devoured every crust of bread and
every drop of porridge they had left, and put or answered interrogatories
as occasion required.
Thus unfavourable were the impressions produced by the scene that
presented itself on his first entrance into a cotton-factory. Blincoe was
forcibly struck by the absence of that personal cleanliness which had
been so rigidly enforced at St. Pancras. The apprentices were required
to wash night and morning; but no soap was allowed, and without it, no
dirt could be removed. Their tangled locks covered with cotton flue,
hung about their persons in long wreaths, floating with every movement.
There was no cloth laid on the tables, to which the new comers had been
accustomed in the workhouse—no plates, nor knives, nor forks—to be sure
the latter utensils were not absolutely necessary with a potatoe-supper.
Instead of salt-cellars, as had been allowed at Pancras, a very stingy
allowance of salt was laid on the table, and Blincoe saw no other
beverage drunk, by the old hands, than pump water.
The supper being devoured, in the midst of the gossiping that ensued, the
bell rang, that gave the signal to go to bed. The grim governor entered
to take the charge of the newly arrived boys, and his wife, acting the
same part by the girls, appeared every way suitable to so rough and
unpolished a mate. She was a large grown, robust woman, remarkable for
a rough hoarse voice and ferocious aspect. In a surly, heart-chilling
tone, she bade the girls follow her. Tremblingly and despondingly the
little creatures obeyed, scarcely daring to cast a look at their fellow
travellers, or bid them good night. As Blincoe marked the tear to
start in their eyes and silently trickle down their cheeks, his heart
responsive sank within him. They separated in mournful silence, scarcely
a sigh being heard, nor a word of complaint being uttered.
The room in which Blincoe and several of the boys were deposited, was
up two pair of stairs. The bed places were a sort of cribs, built in
a double tier, all round the chamber. The apprentices slept two in a
bed. The beds were of flock. From the quantity of oil imbibed in the
apprentices’ clothes, and the impurities that accumulated from the oiled
cotton, a most disagreeable odour saluted his nostrils. The governor
called the strangers to him and allotted to each his bed-place and
bed-fellow, not allowing any two of the newly arrived inmates to sleep
together. The boy, with whom Blincoe was to chum, sprang nimbly into his
berth, and without saying a prayer, or any thing else, fell asleep before
Blincoe could undress himself. So completely was he cowed, he could not
restrain his tears. He could not forbear execrating the vile treachery
of which he felt himself the victim; but still he declared, it never
struck him, at least, not till long afterwards, that the _superiors_ of
St. Pancras had deceived him. The fault, he thought, lay with Messrs.
Lamberts, their new masters. When he crept into bed, the stench of the
oily clothes and greasy hide of his sleeping comrade, almost turned his
stomach.—What, between grief and dismay, and this nauseous smell, it was
dawn of day before Blincoe dropt asleep. Over and over again, the poor
child repeated every prayer he had been taught, and strove, by unfeigned
piety, to recommend himself to the friend of the friendless, and the
father of the fatherless. At last, sleep sealed his weary eye-lids—but
short was the repose he was allowed to enjoy—before five o’clock, he was
awakened by his bed-fellow, who springing upright, at the loud tolling
of a bell, told Blincoe to dress with all speed, or the governor would
flog him and deprive him of his breakfast. Before Blincoe had time
to perform this office, the iron door of the chamber, creaking upon
its hinges, was opened, and in came the terrific governor, with the
horse-whip in his hand, and every boy hastily tumbled out of his crib,
and huddled on his clothes with all possible haste! Blincoe and his
fellow travellers were the slowest, not being rightly awake. Blincoe
said “bless me, have you _church-service_ so soon?” “Church-service, you
fool, said one of the larger apprentices, it is to the mill _service_
you are called, and you had better look sharp, or you’ll catch it!”
saying this, off he scampered. Blincoe, who was at first amazed at the
trepidation, that appeared in the apprentices, soon understood the cause.
The grim-looking governor, with the carbuncled nose, bearing the emblem
of arbitrary rule, a horse-whip in his hand, made his appearance, and
stalking round the chamber, looked in every bed-place; as he passed
Blincoe and his young comrades, he bestowed a withering look upon them,
which, fully understanding, they hastened below; arrived there, Blincoe
saw some of the boys washing themselves at a pump, and was directed to
do the same.—The whole mass sat down to breakfast at five o’clock in the
morning. The meal consisted of _black bread_ and _blue milk-porridge_.
Blincoe and his fellow strangers took their places, mingled with the
rest of the apprentices, who, marking their dislike of the bread,
eagerly seized every opportunity of eating it themselves. Blincoe and
his comrades looked wistfully at each other. Consternation sat deeply
imprinted on their features; but every tongue was silent; young as they
were, they had sense enough to perceive the necessity of submission and
the prudence of reserve.
They reached the mill about half past five.—The water was on, from the
bottom to the top, in all the floors, in full movement. Blincoe heard
the burring sound before he reached the portals and smelt the fumes of
the oil with which the axles of twenty thousand wheels and spindles were
bathed. The moment he entered the doors, the noise appalled him, and the
stench seemed intolerable.
He did not recollect that either of the Messrs. Lamberts’ were present
at the mill, on his first entrance. The newly arrived were received by
Mr. Baker, the head manager, and by the overlookers of the respective
rooms. They were mustered in the making-up room; the boys and girls
in separate divisions. After being looked at, and laughed at, they
were dispersed in the various floors of the mill, and set to various
tasks.—Blincoe was assigned to a room, over which a man named _Smith
presided_. The task first allotted to him was, to pick up the loose
cotton, that fell upon the floor. Apparently, nothing could be easier,
and he set to with diligence, although much terrified by the whirling
motion and noise of the machinery, and not a little affected by the dust
and flue with which he was half suffocated. They span coarse numbers;
unused to the stench, he soon felt sick, and by constantly stooping, his
back ached. Blincoe, therefore, took the liberty to sit down; but this
attitude, he soon found, was strictly forbidden in cotton mills. His
task-master (Smith) gave him to understand, he must keep on his legs.
Ho did so, till twelve o’clock, being six hours and a half, without the
least intermission.—Blincoe suffered at once by thirst and hunger—the
moment the bell rang, to announce dinner, all were in motion to get out
as expeditiously as possible. Blincoe ran out amongst the crowd, who
were allowed to go—never, in his life, before did he know the value of
wholesome air so perfectly. He had been sick almost to fainting, and it
revived him instantaneously! The cocknies mingled together, as they made
progress towards the apprentice-house! Such as were playsome made to
each other! and the melancholy seemed to mingle their tears! When they
reached the apprentice-room, each of them had a place assigned at the
homely board! Blincoe does not remember of what his dinner consisted;
but is perfectly sure, that neither roast beef nor plum-pudding made its
appearance—and that the provisions, the cookery, and the mode of serving
it out, were all very much below the standard of the ordinary fare of the
workhouse in which he had been reared.
During the space of a week or ten days, that Blincoe was kept picking
up cotton, he felt at night very great weariness, pains in his back and
ancles; and he heard similar complaints from his associates. They might
have suffered less had they been taken to the mill at five o’clock,
been worked till eight, and then allowed time to eat their breakfast;
but six hours’ confinement, to close work, no matter of what kind, in
an atmosphere as foul as that which circulated in a cotton-mill, is
certainly injurious to the health and growth of children of tender
years. Even in mills worked by water, and where the temperature of the
air is nearly the same within the mill as without, this is the case; but
incomparably more so in mills, such as are found in Manchester, where,
in many, the average heat is from 70 to 90 degrees of Fahrenheit's
scale. After Blincoe had been employed in the way described, he was
_promoted_ to the more important employment of a roving winder. Being
too short of stature, to reach his work, standing on the floor, he was
placed on a block; but this expedient only remedied a part of the evil;
for he was not able by any possible exertion, to keep pace with the
machinery. In vain, the poor child declared it was not in his power to
move quicker. He was beaten by the overlooker, with great severity,
and cursed and reviled from morning till night, till his life become a
burthen to him, and his body discoloured by bruises. In common, with
his fellow apprentices, Blincoe was wholly dependent upon the mercy of
the overlookers, whom he found, generally speaking, a set of brutal,
ferocious, illiterate ruffians, alike void of understanding, as of
humanity! Blincoe complained to Mr. Baker, the manager, and all he said
to him was:—“_do your work well, and you’ll not be beaten_.”—It was
but seldom, either of the masters visited the mill, and when they did,
Blincoe found it was useless to complain. The overlooker, who had charge
of him, had a certain quantity of work to perform in a given time. If
every child did not perform his allotted task, the fault was imputed to
his overlooker, and he was discharged.—On the other hand, a premium was
given, if the full quantity of work was done, and not otherwise. If,
therefore, Messrs. Lamberts had remonstrated, or had reprimanded the
task-masters, by whom the children were thus mercilessly treated, those
task-masters could, and most probably would have said, that if the owners
insisted upon so much work being extracted from the apprentices, and a
greater quantity of yarn produced, than it was possible to effect by fair
and moderate labour, _they must allow them_ severity of punishment, to
keep the children in a state of continual exertion. Blincoe had not, of
course, sense to understand this, the principal, if not the sole cause of
the ferocity of the overlookers—but such was, and is the inhuman policy
prevailing in cotton-mills, and whilst that cause remains unchanged, the
effect inevitably must be the same. Each of the task-masters, to acquire
favour and emolument, urged the poor children to the very utmost!—Such is
the driving system, which still holds its course, and which leads to the
exhaustion and destruction of annual myriads, and to the utmost frightful
crimes;—and such is the force of avarice, there are plenty of spinners,
so depraved, as not only to sacrifice other people’s children, but even
_their own_. Blincoe, was not treated with that sanguinary and murderous
ferocity in this mill which these pages will soon delineate; but from
morning till night, he was continually being beaten, pulled by the hair
of his head, kicked or cursed.
It was the custom, in Lowdham Mills, as it is in most water-mills, to
make the apprentices work up lost time, by working over hours! a custom,
that might not be deemed unreasonable, or found oppressive, if the
regular hours were of moderate duration. Blincoe did not say, that this
custom was abused at Lowdham Mill, in an equal degree, to what it was
in others; but when children of seven years of age, or, by probability,
younger, and to work fourteen hours every day in the week, Sundays
excepted, any addition was severely felt, and they had to stop at the
mill during dinner time, to clean the frames every other day. Once in
ten days, or a fortnight, the whole of the finer machinery used to be
taken to pieces and cleaned, and then they had to remain at the mill from
morning till night, and frequently have been unable to find time to get
any food from this early breakfast till night, after they had left off, a
term frequently extended from fifteen to sixteen hours incessant labour.
As an inducement to the children to volunteer to work, the whole
dinner-hour, a premium of a halfpenny was allowed! Small as was the
bribe, it induced many, and Blincoe amongst the number! On such
occasions, the dinner was brought up in tin cans, and often has Blincoe’s
allowance stood till night, whilst he was almost famished with hunger,
and he has often carried it back, or rather eaten it on the road, cold,
nauseous, and covered with flue.
Being half starved, and cruelly treated by his task-masters—being
spotted as a leopard with bruises: and still believing his ill-treatment
arose from causes beyond the controul of the parish officers, by whom
he had been disposed of to Messrs. Lamberts, Blincoe resolved to
attempt an escape,—to beg his way to London,—to lay his case before
the overseers and churchwardens of Saint Pancras, and not only claim
redress of injuries, but the fulfilment of the grand promises that had
been made to him. “I cannot deny,” said Blincoe, “that I feel a glow
of pride, when I reflect that, at the ago of seven years and a half, I
had courage to resent and to resist oppression, and generosity to feel
for the sufferings of my helpless associates, not one of whom durst
venture to share the peril of the enterprise.—On the other hand,” said
he, “I must give them the credit for sincerity; for, if any one had
been unguarded or perfidious, who knew of my _intended_ expedition, I
should have been put under such restraint, as would have effectually
prevented a successful attempt to run away! I considered my situation so
deplorable, and my state of thraldom so intolerable, that death appeared
as a lesser evil. I was not wholly ignorant of the sufferings I might
have had to encounter, nor that I might perish on the way, from want of
food or shelter, and yet I persevered in an effort, in which, of forty
fellow-sufferers, not one had courage to join, although many had parents
or relatives, to whom to flee for succour, and I had none! So far, young
as I was, I calculated upon difficulty, danger and sufferings.—In one
thing, only, was I deceived; that error consisted in thinking the evils
of my situation intolerable! I had no recollection of calamities so
severe, and consequently no standard by which to regulate my judgment. I
therefore, rashly determined in my own mind, that my condition admitted
of no aggravation,—I was indeed, soon undeceived! I lived, within the
short space of four years, to look back with regret to the comparative
degree of ease, plenty of food, and of all other good things enjoyed at
Lowdham Mill! This sort of knowledge, is, I believe, commonly taught”
said Blincoe, “to all the children of misery, as they sink deeper and
deeper in woe! The first stage appears the most intolerable; but as they
descend, like me, they sink so profoundly in the depths of wretchedness,
that in their melancholy progress, those stages and degrees, which, at
first, appeared as intolerable, lose all their terrors, in accumulated
misery, and the desponding heart, when it takes a retrospective glance
at past sufferings, often arraigns its want of patience and fortitude,
for murmurings measured by present calamities. Their former condition
appeared comfortable! Such was my condition, at a later period, when,
to be released from the greater and heavier misery, which I endured at
Lowdham, with all its evils, and in the very worst shape, I should have
esteemed it as a positive state of happiness.” Such was the philosophical
reasoning of Robert Blincoe, in 1822. But, to proceed,—steady to his
purpose, he embraced the first favourable opportunity of making the
projected attempt to escape! He considered his great danger to lie in
being retaken on the road between Lowdham and Nottingham; but he knew
no other way, and was afraid to make inquiry! When the manager and
overlooker of the room he worked in were busy, Blincoe set off, dressed
in his working clothes. His progress began in a sort of canter, looking
behind him every fifty yards for the first half mile, when, finding
he had not been seen or pursued, he continued his rapid flight till
he reached Burton, and there, as fate decreed, that flight suddenly
terminated; for, as he trotted onwards, a long-shanged, slip-shod tailor,
who worked for Lowdham Mill, slid nimbly from his shop-board, which,
unfortunately for Blincoe, faced the road, and, placing himself full in
the way, with a malicious kind of grin upon his long, lank visage, said
“O! young Parson, where art thou running so fast this way?” saying this,
he seized him by the hand, and led him very loath into his cottage, and,
giving him a seat in the back part of the room, placed himself between
his captive and the door.
Blincoe saw, at one glance, by these precautions, that he was caught.
His indignation was so great at first, he would not give any answer;
noticing which, his false and artful host said to his wife, “Give the
young Parson something to eat and drink,—he is weary, and will be better
able to pursue his journey, after he has rested and refreshed himself!
The Lord commands us to give food to the hungry, and I dare say,”
addressing himself to him, “thou art not so full, but thou canst eat a
bowl of bread and milk.” “I must own, to my shame,” said Blincoe, “the
carnal man, the man of flesh was caught by the bait! I hungered and I
ate, and he gave me so much, and I drank so heartily, that my teeth
disabled my legs! To be sure, my fare was not very costly:—it consisted
of some oaten bread and butter-milk!”
When this sly fox of a tailor found he could eat no more, still
blockading the door, to question Blincoe as to the object of his journey,
which the latter frankly explained,—“Aye, I thought so,” said the
detestable hypocrite, “young parson, I thought so,—I saw Satan behind
thee, jobbing his prong into thy ****!—I saw thee running headlong into
h—ll, when I stept forth to save thee!” This avowal aroused all Blincoe’s
indignation, and he was determined to have a scuffle with his perfidious
host; but he had swallowed so large a portion of butter-milk, and eaten
so much oaten bread, he felt he had lost half his speed! Disdainful,
however, of fraud or denial, he again avowed his intention, and its
cause. The tailor then commenced an harangue upon the deadly sin of a
breach of covenant,—assured Blincoe he was acting under the influence of
Satan! that he was liable to be sent to Bridewell, to be flogged, and,
when sent back to his work, to be debarred of all liberty, and led to and
from the mill with a halter round his neck! Blincoe was neither convinced
by this reasoning, nor intimidated by these denunciations—but, alas! his
gluttonous appetite had disabled him for flight, and being thus disabled,
and thus doubly a captive, he made a merit of necessity, and agreed to
go back, if his host would be his mediator with Mr. Baker, the manager.
This was the precise point to which the jesuitical tailor wished to bring
him. Without relinquishing his seat, the treacherous knave doffed his
paper cap, and skeins of thread that still hung round his long, shaggy
neck,—he combed his black, greasy locks, that hung straight as candles
round his lanthorn jaws,—tied a yellow cotton handkerchief round his
neck,—put on a pair of shoes,—took a _crab-tree_ stick, full of knots,
in his right hand, and grasping Blincoe’s very tight in his left, he
sallied forth on a _work of charity_ as the loathsome hypocrite called
his having entrapped and betrayed a poor oppressed orphan child, fleeing
from slavery and oppression. “In my heart,” said Blincoe, “I detested
the wretch with greater bitterness than my task-master; but he held me
so tight, I could not escape—and the sight of the bit of crab-tree which
he brandished, as he chaunted hymns of thanks-giving, had also no small
share of influence in overawing me,—in short, into the counting-house
this second Judas led me. After an admonition to beware how again I
made an attempt of the kind, the manager gave me a severe but not cruel
chastisement.” As to the _hospitable_ tailor, when he had delivered him
up, he slung away, not waiting to receive Blincoe’s thanks. Whether he
took the _five shillings_, which Blincoe was afterwards told was the
standing reward of those who brought back run-away apprentices, or let it
stand till he had five pounds to receive for such services, he cannot
ascertain; but he was told, this peeping Tom of Burton, had rendered many
a poor child the same sort of kindness. “In consequence of this scurvy
trick,” said Blincoe, “I have never been able to conquer the aversion it
created against Methodists; although I am bound to believe, the wretch
was one of the myriads of _counterfeits_, who flock to their standard
from venal and corrupt motives.”