namely, William Haley, Thomas Gully, and John Emery, the overlookers,
took a resolution, to go out of the factory, at a fixed hour, meaning
not to work so many hours; but, according to Blincoe’s account, neither
he nor his comrades had ever heard up to that time, of any law which
regulated the hours of apprentices working in cotton-mills, nor did they
know what an act of parliament meant, so profound was the ignorance in
which they had been reared! Blincoe and his mutinous comrades, having
left work at the expiration of fourteen hours labour, went off to the
apprentice-house. Upon this, the manager, William Woodward, sent off
an express to the master, (Mr. Needham), at Highgate Wall, a lone and
large mansion about four miles distant. Orders came back, to turn all
four out of the apprentice-house that night; but not to give them any
provisions! Being thus turned out, Blincoe got lodging with Samuel
Brickleton! One or two of his comrades slept in the woods, which luckily
was hay time.—Brickleton’s hospitality did not include provisions, and
having had no food since twelve o’clock the day before, Blincoe was
sorely hungry in the morning, but still he had nought to eat! About
nine o’clock, all four, agreeable to the orders they received the night
before, went to the counting-house at the mill. Mr. Needham was there in
a terrible ill-humour—As soon as he saw Blincoe come in, he took from
his body, his waistcoat and jacket, and fell upon him with his thick
walking-stick, which he quickly broke by the heavy blows laid on poor
Blincoe’s head and shoulders, and he kept on swearing the while, “_I’ll
run you out, you damned rascal._” As soon as he could escape, Blincoe
ran off to his work, when Haley and Emery, who were apprentices, like
Blincoe, caught their share of his fury! At noon, Blincoe went eager
enough to the apprentice house, having had no food for twenty-four hours.
Having in a few minutes, devoured his portion, he ran off at full speed,
without hat, jacket, or waistcoat, his head and body greatly bruised,
towards the residence of a magistrate, named Thornelly, who resided at
Stanton-Hall, a place about six miles beyond Bakewell, and eleven from
Litton-Mill! There resided, at this time, at Ashford, about four miles
from Litton-Mill, a man named Johnny Wild, a stocking-weaver, who had
been his (Blincoe’s) overlooker, when first he went to Lowdham Mill.
Filled with the fond hope of being made at once a gentleman, thither,
poor Blincoe, now twenty years of age, directed his course. Johnny Wild
was sitting at his frame, weaving stockings, and was surprised to see
Blincoe run up to the door like a wild creature, terror in his looks
and reeking with perspiration, without hat, coat, or waistcoat. To him,
Blincoe told the cruel usage he had met with, and the wounds and bruises
he had just received, which were sufficiently visible! Wild and his wife
seemed touched with compassion, at the sad plight Blincoe was in, gave
him a bowl of bread and milk, lent him a hat, and directed him his way.
Thus refreshed, the fugitive set off again, running as fast as he could,
looking often behind him. As he passed through Bakewell, Blincoe thought
it best to slacken his pace, lest some mercenary wretch, suspecting him
to be a Litton Mill apprentice running away, should, in the hope of
receiving a reward of a half-crown piece, seize him and send him back to
prison! As he passed along many seemed to eye him intently; but no one
stopped him. About six o’clock in the evening, being heartily jaded, he
arrived at the house of Mr. Thornelly. It happened, that the magistrate
was at dinner—but some person, in his employ, understanding that Blincoe
came to seek redress for alleged violence, went to the supplicant in
the yard, saying, “Who do you want?”—“Mr. Thornelly.”—What for?—“I am
an apprentice at Litton Mill, master has beat me cruelly, do look at my
shirt?”—“Never mind, never mind,” said this person, “you cannot see Mr.
Thornelly to-day; he is at dinner; there will be a bench of justices
to-morrow, about eleven in the morning, at the Sign of the Bull’s Head,
facing the church at Heam; you must go there.” This place lay about five
miles from Litton Mill, on the Sheffield road. Finding there was nothing
to be done at Stanton-Hall, poor Blincoe began to measure back his weary
stops to Litton Mill! He called at Johnny Wild’s, as he returned, who
allowed him to rest; but, of food, he could not offer any; having a
large family, and being but a poor man, he had none to spare! Blincoe
gave back his hat, and arrived at the apprentice-house between nine
and ten, being then giving-over time! William Woodward, the manager,
whose heavy hand had inflicted blows and cuffs beyond calculation on
poor Blincoe, was about the first person by whom he was accosted! In a
tone, about as gentle as that of a baited-bear, and an aspect much more
savage, said, “Where have you been?”—“To Mr. Thornelly.”—“I’ll Thornelly
you to-morrow,” said he, and turned away. Not knowing what the next
day might bring forth, Blincoe applied for his mess of water-porridge,
which, after a journey of two and twenty miles, tasted highly savory,
and then he retired to his bed, praying God to end his life, or mitigate
its severity—a prayer that was common at Litton Mill!—Sore as he was, he
slept; but it was on his face, his back being too much bruised, to lie
in that position, or even on his side! In the morning, he rose and went
to his stretching frame. Between seven and eight o’clock Blincoe saw
Woodward going to the apprentice-house, from the window of the factory.
Seeing this opportunity, without waiting for breakfast, Blincoe again
made a start, still without hat, waistcoat or coat, towards Heam, to
state to the magistrates the cruel treatment he had received—The day was
fine. The hay was about, and miserable as was poor Blincoe, he could not
but feel delighted with the sweet air and romantic scenery. Having been
thus expeditious, Blincoe was at Heam, an hour and a half too soon. To
amuse himself, he went into the Church-yard. As soon as the magistrates
arrived, from whose hands he came to supplicate for justice, Blincoe went
to the Bull’s Head. The officiating clerk was an attorney named Cheek,
who resided at Whetstone-Hall, a mansion situated within half a mile of
Tideswell. To this person, Blincoe began unbosoming his grief, and in
the earnestness of his harrangue, and fearful, lest the attorney did not
catch every syllable, the half-naked Blincoe crept nearer and nearer;
but Mr. Cheek not relishing the dense, foul scent of oil, grease, and
filth, said, “Well, well, I can hear you, you need not come so near;
stand back.” Poor Blincoe, not a little mortified, obeyed his command,
and, by the time Blincoe’s piteous tale was ended, the magistrates had
mostly arrived, to whom Mr. Cheek, the clerk to the magistrates, read the
paper, which Blincoe supposed contained his intended deposition. Blincoe
was then sworn. One of the magistrates, Blincoe believes it was a Mr.
Middleton, of Leam Hall, said, “Where is Mr. Needham?”—Blincoe replied,
“He’s gone to-day (Tuesday) to Manchester Market.” This prevented their
sending a man and horse to fetch him. One of the magistrates then said to
Blincoe, “Go strait to the mill, to your work.”—“Oh! Sir, he’ll leather
me,” meaning, Mr. Needham would beat him again. “Oh, no! he durst na’—he
durst na’,” said one of the magistrates in reply. Upon this, some one
advised, that a letter should be sent to Mr. Needham, in whose much
dreaded presence, Blincoe had no inclination to appear! Blincoe cannot
recollect who wrote the letter, but thinks it was Mr. Middleton, who
said, “If he leathers you, come to me.” This gentleman resided at a
distance of about eight miles from Litton Mill. Having this powerful
talisman in his possession, Blincoe returned direct to the mill, and,
advancing boldly to Woodward, the manager, said, “Here’s a letter for
Mr. John Needham,” the son of the old master, who is now resident in
Tideswell! Blincoe informed Woodward, he had been at a justice-meeting
at Heam, and as a justice had sent this letter, Woodward did not dare
to lay violent hands upon him. This day, poor Blincoe had to fast till
night, making a complete round of another twenty-four hours of fasting!
On Wednesday, John Needham returned from Manchester market, and appeared,
as usual, at Litton Mill.—The letter, from which Blincoe anticipated such
beneficial results, was handed to the young Squire, by William Woodward,
the manager. He broke the seal, read it through, and ordered Blincoe to
be called out of the factory, from his work. Obedient to the summons, and
not a little alarmed, he appeared before his young master, whose savage
looks shewed, ere he spoke a word, a savage purpose. The first words
were, “Take off your shirt, you damned rascal!” Blincoe obeyed, his head
and back being still very sore. John Needham instantly began flogging him
with a heavy horse-whip, striking him with his utmost force, wherever he
could get a blow. It was in vain Blincoe cried for quarters—in vain he
promised never again to go to a Magistrate, in any case whatever. John
Needham kept on flogging, swearing horribly and threatening furiously,
resting between while, till he had fully satisfied his sense of justice!
He then unlocked the door, and, saying, “You’ll go again, will you?”
bade Blincoe put on his shirt, and go to his work. Away went Blincoe,
scarcely able to stand, and covered with additional bruises from head
to foot. Even this horrid flogging did not deprive Blincoe of his
appetite, nor of his determination to seek redress of the Magistrates,
and accordingly, the next Sunday night, when some of the time-outs were
let out of the prison, Blincoe, availing himself of the darkness of the
night, watched the opening of the yard door, and crouching almost on his
hands and knees, crept out unseen. Shortly after the order was given to
set down to supper. Every ’prentice, male and female, knew their own
places. In about two minutes, two hundred half-famished creatures were
seated. Their names were called over, to see that none were missing,
when, little parson could not be found. Governor Thomas Fox, on learning
of this event, ordered the door warder to be called, who declared most
vehemently, he had not let Blincoe out, and further, he had not passed
the door; upon this, a general search was made in all the rooms and
offices, high and low; but no where was little parson to be found.
Meanwhile, as soon as Blincoe found himself outside the hated walls, he
set off again up Slack, a very steep hill close to the mill, and made
the best of his way to Litton, and going to the house of one Joseph
Robinson, a joiner, who worked in Litton Mill, who had known Blincoe
at Lowdham Mill, was well acquainted with the horrid cruelties he had
suffered, and heartily compassionating Blincoe’s miserable state, gave
him a good supper, and let him sleep with his sons. In the morning,
Robinson, who was really a humane man, and a friend to the poor children,
gave Blincoe some bread and meat, and giving him a strict injunction not
to own _where_ he had slept. Blincoe set off, about six o’clock in the
morning, to Mr. Middleton’s house. The morning was showery, and Blincoe
had neither hat, coat, or waistcoat, and he had about eight miles to go,
in search of justice. He arrived at Mr. Middleton’s long before his hour
of appearance. At last, Mr. Middleton got up, and Blincoe approaching,
crawling like a spaniel dog, said, “Sir, I have come again, Mr. Needham
has been beating me worse than ever, as soon as he read your letter
over.” Seeing the miserable state Blincoe was in, drenched with the
rain and half naked, Mr. Middleton said, “go into the kitchen and rest
yourself—you should not have come here first; you should have gone to Mr.
Cheek, of Whetstone Hall, and he would have given you a summons;” upon
this, poor Blincoe said mournfully, “Eh, Sir, he will do nought for me—he
is so thick with my master—they are often drinking together.” “Pshaw,
pshaw,” said the Justice, “he’s like to listen to you—he must;” but then,
as if recollecting himself, he said, “Stop, I’ll write you a letter to
Mr. Cheek.” In the Justice’s kitchen, poor Blincoe got some bread and
cheese, which was indeed a luxurious food, though unaccompanied with any
beer. Blincoe thus refreshed, again set off to Mr. Cheek, a distance of
about eleven or twelve miles, bareheaded and dressed only in trowsers and
shoes. The rain continuing pouring in torrents. When Blincoe reached
Whetstone Hall, one of the first persons he saw was a woman of the name
of Sally Oldfield, her husband, Thomas Oldfield, then dead, had been
governor of the ’prentices of Litton Mill. She was then housekeeper
to Messrs. Shoro and Cheek, at Whetstone Hall. Those gentlemen were
amongst the most intimate friends and visitors of Mr. Needham, and Sally
Oldfield, who recollected Blincoe, alias parson, said, “Eh, Parson! what
do you want here?” “I have a letter from Mr. Middleton to Mr. Cheek.”
“Eh!” said little old Sally again, “Are you going against your master?”
Blincoe told her he was, and how cruelly he had been treated. Sally could
not comprehend any right Blincoe had to complain, and said, “Eh! thou
should’st not go against thy master.” Saying this, she took him to the
kitchen, gave him some bread and cheese, and plenty too, and some good
beer, and then said, “Parson, thou must never go against thy master;
what do you have for dinner on Monday?—do you have treacle now?” “No, we
have dry bread and broth.” “Ah,” continued she, “_Treacle is too dear._”
Blincoe could scarce refrain from smiling, recollecting the feast of the
treacle can; but he said nothing, and not a soul came near him. There
Blincoe sat until night, when he began to think the magistrates were
hoaxing him, and he thought there was no utility in waiting for justice,
or a possibility of obtaining redress! he would never more complain!
seven hours sat Blincoe in Lawyer Cheek’s kitchen, and not the least
notice being taken of him or his letter, he made his solitary way back to
the mill, and arrived there just as the mill had loosed, and going direct
to Woodward, told him where he had been, and concealing the conviction
he felt, that it not possible to obtain redress; he assured the tyrant,
with tears and lamentations, that if he would intercede to prevent his
being flogged again, he would never run away more. “On these conditions,”
said Woodward, “I will, if I can,” and from that day Blincoe cannot
recollect, that he was either flogged or beaten; but, _still_ Blincoe had
no knowledge, that there was any Act of Parliament for the protection
of poor orphans like himself.—He knew of the magistrates coming to the
mill; but he had no distinct idea that they came to _redress grievances_!
So great was the terror of the poor ignorant apprentices, no one dared
complain, and he cannot recollect that they ever gave themselves
any other trouble, than merely going over the mill! Every thing was
previously prepared and made ready. The worst of the cripples were put
out of the way. The magistrates saw them not. The magistrates could never
_find out_ any thing wrong, nor hear of a single individual who had any
complaint to make!—When Blincoe was about twelve or thirteen years of
age, he well remembers an apprentice, almost grown up, who lost his life
in an attempt to escape. He had tied several blankets or sheets together,
to reach the ground from the chamber window, where he slept, which was
three or four stories high. The line broke, he fell to the ground, and
he was so much hurt at the fall, he died soon after. Blincoe thinks some
surgeon or doctor came to him; but he has not the least recollection of
any Coroner’s inquest being held! In addition to the punishments already
stated, Robert Woodward and other overlookers have kicked him down a
whole flight of stairs; at other times, he has been seized by the hair
of his head and dragged up and down the room, tearing off his hair by
handsful, till he was almost bald! All the punishments he suffered, were
inflicted upon others, and, in some cases, even to a worse degree than
on himself. He even considers he came off tolerably well, compared with
others, many of whom, he believes, in his conscience, lost their lives,
and died at the apprentice-house, from the effects of hard usage, bad and
scanty food, and excessive labour.
CHAP. VI.
Blincoe remained in Litton Mill a year after he had received his
indentures, not from inclination; but to get a little money to start
with. His wages were only four shillings and sixpence weekly, and this
was to have been paid monthly; but, month after month elapsed, and,
instead of an honest settlement, there was nothing but shuffling!
The first money he received was eighteen and sixpence, and being in
possession of that sum, he thought himself incalculably rich! He scarcely
knew what to do with it! It took away his appetite.—After he was a little
composed, he devoted a few shillings to the purchase of some dainties,
such as wheaten cakes and herrings! He then worked and lived like others,
till his master owed him nearly half a years labour. The pay day came
and then he drew nearly thirty shillings, the rest was kept back, so
that Blincoe seeing no prospect before him but perpetual slavery for a
merciless master, made up his mind to be off; and on Tidswell May fair,
which happens on the fifteenth of May, he put his plan in execution!
He knew not where to go; but started the next morning at hazard!
When he came to Chapel-a-Frith, he determined to visit a celebrated
fortune-teller, called Old Beckka’! She lived in a small back-house, a
haggard, black, horrid-looking creature, very old, having a long beard,
and dressed like a person who lived in ages past! Her name was very
influential all over Derbyshire. So very famous was _old Beckka’_, that
people came far and near, and she was reputed to be possessed of land
and houses.—She never took a smaller fee than a shilling, even from
the very poorest of her votaries. Her name was well-known at Litton
Mill. If any thing was stolen, Woodward, the manager, or Gully, or some
one of the overlookers, used to go to Chapel-a-Frith, to consult _old
Beckka’_. To this sybil, Blincoe repaired, holding a shilling, between
his thumb and finger! Perfectly understanding the object of his visit,
she first took the shilling, and then said, “Sit down.” He felt really
frightened, and, if she had bade him stand upon his head, he declared
he should have obeyed! He had been told, that she had really enchanted
or bewitched persons, who had endeavoured to cheat or deceive her, or
by whom she had been offended, causing them to lose their way, and sent
ill fortune in many shapes. Our novice was also told, that ladies and
gentlemen of high estate had come in their coaches, all the way from
London, to learn their destiny, all which circumstances produced, on
his uncultivated mind, the sensations described! No sooner was Robert
Blincoe seated, than the witch of Chapel-a-Frith, put a common tea-cup
in his hand, containing a little tea grounds, “Shake it well,” said
Beckka’, Blincoe obeyed. Then the oracle drained away the water, and
twirling the cup round and round, she affected, with the utmost gravity,
to read his future fortune, in the figures described in the sediment at
the bottom. Assuming a wild stare, and standing erect over him, her eyes
apparently ready to leap from their sockets, she exclaimed, in a hollow
sepulchral tone of voice, “You came from the outside of London, did you
not?” “Yea,” said the astonished Blincoe, “I did.” “You came down in a
waggon, and have been at a place surrounded with high rocks and great
waters, and you have been used worse than a stumbling stone.” Blincoe’s
mouth, and eyes, and ears, all seemed to open together, at this oracular
speech, as he said, “Yea, yea, it is true.” Then she said,—“Your troubles
are at an end.—You shall rise above those, who have cast you down so
low.—You shall see their downfall, and your head shall be higher than
theirs.—Poor lad! terrible have been thy sufferings.—Thou shall get up
in the world! you’ll go to another place, where there’ll be a big water,
and so go thy way in peace, and may God prosper thy steps!” Filled with
amazement, mingled with rising hopes of better fortune, Blincoe arose
and departed, making a very low reverence to “_old Beckka’_,” as he went
out, and impressed with the fullest conviction, that she was truely a
sorceress; the simpleton, forgetting, that his _costume_, his wild and
pallid looks, and the _scent_ of his garments, tainted as they were with
the perfume of a cotton factory, were more than sufficient to point out
to the fortune-teller, the past and present, from which she speedily
fabricated the future fortune, for her simple visitor! Blincoe thought he
got but a very short story for his shilling! On the other hand, he was
very well contented with its _quality_, since it promised him, and in
such positive terms, that he should rise above his cruel oppressor and
become a great man. Filled with these thoughts, he stepped briskly along,
not much encumbered with luggage; for he carried all his wardrobe on his
back. When he arrived at a spot called “Orange end,” where four ways met,
he was perplexed which to take, the oracle of Chapel-a-Frith not having
apprised him of this dilemma, nor which road to take! Being quite in an
oracular mood, very happy, that he had got so far away from Litton, and
fully convinced, that, go where he would, and befall him what would, he
could not blunder upon a worse place, nor be oppressed by a more evil
fortune, he tossed up a halfpenny in the air, making it spin round its
own axis, and waiting its course as it rolled, resolved to follow in
that direction. Its course happening to be pointed towards New Mills,
Derbyshire, thither he bent his course, but failed in his application for
work. Blincoe, therefore, walked on, till he came to Mr. Oldknow’s Cotton
Factory, at Mellow, and there he crept towards the counting-house, in an
humble mood, and said, in a very meek tone of voice, “If you please, Sir,
can you give me work?” The manager, Mr. Clayton, a gentleman by no means
deficient in self-respect, asked sharply: “Where do you come from?” “From
Litton Mill, Sir.” “Where are your indentures?” “There they are, Sir,”
said Blincoe, holding up the papers. There were two or three gentlemen,
in the counting-house, and they looked earnestly over the indentures
and then at Blincoe, one of them saying, “Did you come from Pancras
workhouse?” “Yes, Sir.” “Why, we are all come from thence! we brought
many children the other day to this Mill.” “Indeed, Sir,” said Blincoe,
pitying, in his heart, the poor creatures, and thinking it would have
been merciful to have killed them outright at once, rather than put them
to such a place as Litton Mill had proved to him. Looking at the names
of the subscribing officers and overseers, one of the Pancras parish
officers said to Mr. Clayton: “Some of these officers are dead.” Blincoe
again exclaimed “Indeed, Sir,”—recollecting the atrocious lies and cruel
deceptions, those men had practised upon him, in his infant years, by
telling him to believe that, in sending him to a cotton-factory, he was
to be made at once a gentleman; to live upon roast beef and plum-pudding;
to ride his master’s horses; to have a watch in his pocket and plenty of
money, and nothing whatever to do! Poor Blincoe could not help thinking
to himself:—“Where are the souls of these men gone, who, knowing the
utter falsehood of their seductive tales, betrayed me to destiny far
more cruel than transportation?” The overseers, looking at the distorted
limbs of this victim of parochial economy, said “Why, how came you so
lame? you were not so when you left London, were you?” “No, Sir, I was
turned over, with the rest of the unclaimed ’prentices, from Lowdham
Mill, to Ellice Needham, of Litton Mill.” “How did they keep you?—what
did you live upon?” “Water porridge—sometimes once, sometimes twice a
day—sometimes potatoes and salt for supper: not half enough, and very bad
food.” “How many hours did you work?” “From five, or occasionally six
o’clock in the morning, till nine, half-past ten, and sometimes eleven,
and, on Saturday nights, till twelve o’clock.” The person wrote these
answers down; but made no comment, nor ever noticed the material facts;
that Blincoe had not been taught the trade he should have learnt, and
that the parish officers of Pancras had utterly neglected him and his
miserable comrades, when the Lowdham Mill factory stopped! The manager
then bade a person shew Blincoe where he might get lodgings, and bade
him come to work in the morning. Blincoe was too much afraid of giving
offence, by asking questions in the counting-house, to venture to enquire
as to his parentage; but, as soon as he had got lodgings, he strove to
make out where the officers were to lodge that night, at Mellor, to
enquire further; but hearing they were just then gone, he was deprived
of the opportunity! This occurrence, filling his mind with melancholy
reflections, he shed many tears in solitude that night! The next morning,
he went to his work, and found it was as hard as at Litton Mill; but
of more moderate duration—the hours being from six in the morning,
till seven in the evening. The ’prentices, whom he saw at work, seemed
cheerful and contented—looked healthy and well, compared with those at
Litton! They were well fed, with good milk-porridge and wheaten bread for
breakfast, and all their meals were good and sufficient! They were kept
clean, decently dressed, and every Sunday went twice to Marple Church,
with Mr. Clayton, their under-master, at their head! On the whole, it
struck Blincoe, that the children were in a Paradise, compared with the
unfortunate wretches whom he had left at Litton Mill, and he indulged
in the humane hope, that the lot of children just then brought down
from London, might escape the dreadful sufferings he had had to endure!
Unfortunately, the trade, which Blincoe had been fourteen or fifteen
years articled to learn, was by no means so good as husbandry labour. The
wages, Mr. Oldknow offered him, were _eleven shillings per week_, at the
time that a good husbandry labourer could earn from sixteen shillings to
a pound! After having been some months in Mr. Oldknow’s factory, Blincoe
learnt, that, whilst he did as much work, and as well as any man in the
factory, which employed several hundred apprentices, Mr. Clayton had
fixed his wages at three or four shillings per week less than any other
person’s. Blincoe could not impute this to any other cause, than an
idea, that he was in so crippled a state, he dared not demand the same
as another! Such is the mean and sordid spirit, that sways almost the
whole of those establishments. When a poor creature has been crippled
at one mill, and applies for work at another, instead of commiserating
his condition and giving him the easiest and best work and best pay, it
is a common custom, to treat them with the utmost contempt, and though
they may be able to do their work as well for their masters, though not
with the same ease to themselves, as one who has escaped being crippled,
the masters generally make it a rule to screw them down to the very
lowest point of depression, and, in many cases, give them only half their
wages. On this principle was Blincoe dealt with at Mellor Factory; but,
as the wretched diet on which he had been fed at Litton, enabled him to
live upon three shillings per week, he saved money each week. Having
an independent spirit and not being willing to work for less than his
brethren, he took an opportunity one evening, to go to the counting-house
and doffing his hat to Mr. Clayton, said, “Sir, if you please, will you
be so good to rise my wages?” Turning sharp round, he said, “Raise your
wages! why, I took you in upon _charity only_!” “I am sure it was very
good of you, Sir,” said Blincoe, who well knew that such hands as himself
were scarce, therefore, that his charity began at home.—Hearing Blincoe
speak in such humble, yet somewhat ironical terms; for he possessed a
rich vein of sarcastic humour, Mr. Clayton said, “Well, go to your work,
I’ll see.” They paid every fortnight at the factory.—The next pay night,
Blincoe found himself paid at the rate of thirteen shillings, which was
still two shillings under the price of other workmen! This continued
a few weeks, when, an old servant, whom they had employed many years,
applied for work, and on the Friday night fortnight, Blincoe’s wages
were sent up to him, with an order _to depart_. This is what is called
_getting the bag_. Blincoe being alike surprised and hurt, and knowing
he had done his work well and had never lost a minute, set an enquiry
on foot, and he was told, from very good authority, it was because he
had applied for an advance of wages, and because Mr. Clayton thought
it was taking an advantage of him. Curious logic! Mr. Clayton seems
totally to forget the advantage he had, in the first instance, taken of
poor Blincoe, and feeling very sore, when the young fellow applied for
redress, he seized this opportunity, and, in this petty way, to wreak his
anger; and as the factory of Mr. Oldknow stood so very high, if compared
with that of Ellice Needham, of Litton, these blemishes fully prove, how
foul and corrupted is the spirit of traffic, since, in its best shape,
it could not resist the temptation of taking a mean advantage of the
necessities and the misery of a fellow creature.
Although the treatment of parish pauper apprentices was very liberal,
compared to what they had endured at Litton Mill, the journeymen were
governed by a very tight hand. If they arrived only two or three
minutes after the clock had struck, they were locked out; and those,
who were within, were all locked in, till dinner time, and not only
were the outward doors, below, locked; but every room above, and there
was a door-keeper kept, whose duty it was, a few minutes before the
respective hours of departure, to unlock the doors, by whom they were
again locked, as soon as the work-people arrived! In every door, there
was a small aperture, big enough to let a quart can through, so that the
food brought by parents and relations could be handed to them within—no
one being permitted to go in or out, and, of course, the necessaries,
two or three to each room, were within side the room, where the people
worked! Such was the rigid order and severe discipline of one of the most
_lenient_ master cotton-spinners! Mr. Oldknow caused a road to be made
from the turnpike to his mill, which saved some length of way, and every
stranger, or person not absolutely working in the mill, who used it, had
to pay a halfpenny—and, as the road led to New Mills and Mellor, those
work-people, in common with all others, had to pay a halfpenny. There was
a toll-house erected, and also a toll-bar, and the speculation, if not
very neighbourly, is said to have been very profitable.
When Blincoe left this establishment, which seemed to vie with some of
the largest factories in Manchester, both in its exterior grandeur, and
in magnitude, he had contrived to save the greater part of his wages,
and having a few pounds in his pocket, he felt less dismay at this
harsh and unexpected treatment, than if he had acted with less prudence
and been destitute. He had served faithfully and diligently upwards of
half-a-year, and a character from so respectable an employer might be
serviceable, he, therefore, made his appearance once more before Mr.
Clayton, and doffing his hat, and assuming the most lowly and respectful
attitude, said, in his usual slow and plaintive tone:—“Will you please,
Sir, give me a character?”—“O no! O no!” replied the manager, “we never
give characters here,” with an unfriendly aspect! Blincoe thought it was
better to be off and seek his fortune elsewhere, than stop and argue.
This circumstance strongly marks the oppressive character of these
establishments. It is clear, that Mr. Clayton did not chuse to hire
Blincoe without a character, or something equivalent, by requiring to see
his indentures; and, after the young man had served them diligently and
honestly, for six months, he surely should have written to certify, that
he had done so, and the denial _might_ have prevented his getting another
employer. However the law might stand at present, upon this point, in any
future legislative measure, a clause should be introduced, to _compel_
every master to give a written character, except where some positive act
of gross misconduct interposed to neutralise the claim!
From Mellor Mill, Blincoe walked to Bollington, in Cheshire, a village
not far from Macclesfield, and about 18 miles distance, having a bundle,
which, slung upon a stick, he carried upon his shoulder. He passed
several road-side houses of entertainment, allaying his thirst from
the living fountains, and satisfying his hunger with a penny cake.
In this way, he travelled, till he arrived at Bollington, where he
obtained work in a factory, situated on the Macclesfield road, belonging
to a Mr. Lomax. He was placed in the card-room, which is reckoned the
most laborious and unwholesome in the factory, on account of the great
quantity of dirt and dust; but Mr. Lomax promised him a stretching frame,
at the end of a fortnight. The fortnight having expired, Blincoe saw no
signs of being relieved from stripping off the cotton from the cards.
He made up his mind to be off, and march on towards Staley Bridge, in
the hope of bettering his condition! As he was going along some fields,
for a short cut, he was met by a couple of suspicious looking fellows,
who, stepping boldly up to Blincoe, said in a stern voice, “What have
you got in that bundle?” “I dunna know, Mester, but if you’ll ask the
gentleman on horseback, that is coming on the horse road, at the other
side of the hedge, he’ll tell you.” Hearing this, and marking the calm
indifference of Blincoe, the interrogators took to their heels, and never
once looked behind them, as he could perceive; and thus the poor little
wanderer outwitted the marauders, and saved his shirt and stockings, and,
by the possibility, the hard-earned treasure he had in his fob. Having
thus adroitly got rid of the thieves, Blincoe made the best of his way
to the main road, and the best use of his legs, till he got in view of
some houses, where he thought himself out of danger. Arrived at Staley
Bridge, situate upon a river, which separates Cheshire and Lancashire,
and where there are many spinning factories, he applied to a man named
William Gamble, who had lived in Yorkshire. This man, twelve or thirteen
years before, was one of the overlookers at Lowdham Mill, and very much
addicting himself to kicking the apprentices and dragging them about
by the hair of the head, up and down the rooms, and then dashing them
upon the floor, on account of which propensity, he was reprimanded and
removed, when the overseers of Pancras parish arrived. Indeed this man
and one Smith, were the terror of the poor children; but Blincoe wanting
work and knowing he was an overlooker in Mr. Harrison’s factory, which,
by way of pre-eminence, was called _the Bastile_, poor Blincoe had
been so many years accustomed to Bastiles, he was not easily daunted.
To Gamble he repaired, and who having bestowed so many marks of his
_paternal_ regard upon Blincoe, he recognized him at once and very kindly
got him work at ten shillings per week, which he drew for the _use_ of
Blincoe, during a few weeks, to whom he acted as _caterer_, and provided
him with a bed, so that Blincoe had nothing whatever to do, but his
work, which was tolerably moderate, that is, compared with Litton Mill.
Notwithstanding its unseemly appellative, the work-people were not locked
up in the rooms, as at Mellor.