THE ATTACK ON THE COLLIERY
Not often has Europe been in a greater state of unrest than it was at
the time this story opens. James II, the exiled King of England, had
lately died in his French home, and his son, afterwards famous as the
Old Pretender, had been acknowledged as the new English king by Louis
XIV of France, to the joy of the many Jacobites England still
contained, but to the dismay of the majority of Englishmen. There was
likely to be dire trouble also respecting the vacant throne of Spain.
There had been originally three candidates for the throne of the
weakling Charles, not long dead--Philip of Anjou, whose claims had the
powerful support of his grandfather, the ambitious Louis; Charles, the
second son of the Emperor Leopold of Austria; and Joseph, the
Electoral Prince of Bavaria. But the last mentioned had died, leaving
the contest to Philip and Charles, the French and Austrian claimants.
The rest of Europe was naturally in alarm when the already
too-powerful Louis actually placed his grandson on the Spanish throne.
Practically the step amounted on the part of France to an annexation
of the once predominant kingdom of Spain with all its appanages. And
when the Grand Monarque, as his flatterers called him, proceeded
further to garrison the strongholds of the Netherlands, then a Spanish
province, with his own troops, it was clear that Louis considered
himself King both of France and Spain. As for the Protestants of
Europe, their very existence seemed to be threatened by the designs of
the French sovereign.
Who was there, then, to withstand the ambitious and arrogant Louis?
There was but one great and effective opponent, William of Orange,
King of England. He had spent his life in thwarting the ambitious
policy of the French monarch, and so long as William lived Louis was
sure of a vigorous and powerful antagonist. And William was preparing,
in both his English and his Dutch dominions, for yet another conflict.
War was indeed imminent; the sole question being when it would
actually break out, and who would be ruler over England when it did.
For William III was in feeble health; his death might occur any day,
and his crown pass to his sister-in-law Anne. Such was the condition
of affairs at the time George Fairburn left St. Peter's School at
York.
January brought many new orders for the Fairburn pit, and the owner
had work for more men. So greatly was his business increasing, that
the proprietor of the little colliery came to a decision that seemed
likely to affect his son's whole future life.
"What would you like to be, my lad?" he one day inquired abruptly.
"A soldier, dad," was the prompt reply, the boy regarding his father
in some wonderment, nevertheless.
"A soldier, says the lad!" Fairburn exclaimed, no less surprised by
the answer than George had been by the question. "It is the most
detestable of all trades, that of soldiering, and about the most
empty-stomached. Don't talk of such a thing, my good lad."
In vain George entered into a defence of the military profession,
referring to the many great soldiers with whom his school readings in
the histories of Greece and Rome and England had made him more or less
acquainted. Fairburn was not to be charmed, and with a deep sigh the
boy gave up the contest. He was still more upset when his father
proceeded to tell him that he would not return to St. Peter's, but
would remain at home to assist in the business till a place could be
secured for him in some great London house.
It was not a task he cared about; anybody could have done it, he
thought, as he entered the weights on little tickets. But George had a
large fund of common sense and a deep respect for his father. He did
not grumble or sulk, but resolved that as he had to do the work he
would do it thoroughly.
Half an hour later he started and flushed to see Mr. Blackett and
Matthew, both well mounted, and followed by a groom in livery, come
riding by. He trusted they would not notice him at his dusty and
disagreeable task. Alas! the field path they were pursuing led close
past the spot, and George observed the look of surprise on their faces
when they saw him. The father gave no sign of recognition; Matthew
looked uncomfortable and nodded in a shamefaced kind of way. George
flushed, and for a moment felt a bitter anger surge within him; then
he called himself a dolt for caring a straw what they thought of him.
It was a little hard, however, to think that Matthew Blackett would be
going back to his beloved school and studies, while he, also a
Peterite, was engaged in such a humdrum task as weighing coal at the
pit mouth.
His father's energy at this time was prodigious. Fairburn was afoot
early and late. In spite of the cold and stormy weather of winter he
made two or three trips to London in his collier brig, always to
report on his return a notable addition to his trade. Once, too, on
his homeward voyage, he had had himself put ashore a little north of
Spurn, and had trudged the five and twenty miles to Hull, the rising
port on the east coast. Then, after appointing an agent and starting
what seemed likely to grow into a big business, he had tramped the
hundred and twenty miles or more that separated him from Newcastle and
his home, cutting a quaint figure on the road, with his old-fashioned
hat and cloak, and his much-twisted and knotty oak stick. The result
of all this energy was that when he was in a joking mood he would say,
"We shall have to see about buying another pit, mother--Blackett's,
perhaps, as I hear they have little going on there at present."
And indeed the Blackett colliery did at that time seem to be under a
cloud. Trade fell off, and almost every week hands were discharged.
Fairburn was secretly a little afraid of mischief from these
out-of-works, especially when he himself was absent from home.
Towards the end of February England was startled by the news that King
William had been thrown from his favourite steed Sorrel, at Hampton
Court, and was lying in a precarious state, his collar-bone broken. A
week or two later came the tidings of William's death, and of the
proclamation of the Princess Anne as Queen.
The news had an extraordinary effect on Mr. Blackett. Ordering his
coach, he drove in haste to his colliery, hoisted a big flag there,
proclaimed a holiday on full pay, and sent for a copious supply of
ale. His son Matthew, who had not gone back to school at York, amused
himself and the men by firing unnumbered salvoes from a couple of
small cannon he possessed.
"Now that Billy the Dutchman is out of the way," Squire Blackett cried
exultingly, "Whiggery will soon be dead, and England will be ruled by
its rightful sovereign, who will be assisted by lords and gentlemen of
sound policy."
A huge banner was hoisted, and the Squire and his son headed a
procession to the neighbouring villages. The jubilant colliery owner
and his merry men took care to pass the Fairburn pit, with frantic
cheerings and hallooings.
"What does it all mean?" George, who was in charge in the absence of
his father, inquired of the old overlooker of the colliery.
"It means beer, George," the ancient replied, "beer and froth, and
nothing else."
"Nothing else! I hope that is a true word, Saunders, that's all. I
mislike the looks of some of those fellows."
"Why, to judge from all the whispers we hear," the overlooker
commented, "we are like enough to get our backs well hazelled before
long."
George gave a word of caution to the pitmen when they left work that
afternoon.
"There are sure to be insults," he said, "but take no notice, and keep
out of harm's way."
But the fates were against George and his pit that day. Hardly had the
little gang of Fairburn colliers turned the corner of the lane when
they were met by an excited mob carrying a huge sheet on which was
rudely printed in big characters, "Down with all Whigs!"
"An insult to the gaffer, that's as plain as the nose on a man's
face," cried one of the Fairburn fellows, and without more ado, he
dashed forward and made a grab at the offending canvas. He was
forestalled, however, a man of the opposing party deftly tripping him
up and sending him sprawling into the mud. Before the unlucky pitman
could rise the whole mob had surged over him, amidst shrieks of
laughter.
On this the Fairburn men threw all George's cautions to the winds, and
charged the mob. Instantly a hot fight was going on around the big
banner. Even old Saunders, the overlooker, caught one of the
opposition gang by the collar, crying, "Ye loons, what for are ye
coming our way again? Ye ha' been once to-day, wi' your jibes and
jeers; isn't that enough?"
"Jibes and jeers, old lad! Eh, there'll happen be mair than that afore
bedtime."
Meanwhile there was rough work around the banner. In spite of the
efforts of the bearers and their friends to protect the canvas, one of
the Fairburn men had got a grip of it, and in a second the thing had
been torn from its supporting poles, amid mingled cheers and
execrations. The canvas itself was pulled hither and thither by the
opposing gangs, each striving to retain possession of it. Bit by bit
the banner was torn to pieces, the men fighting savagely for even the
smallest shred of it, each man pocketing his piece as a trophy, till
at length there was nothing of the thing left visible.
Cries of, "On to the pit wi' ye, lads!" were by this time plentiful,
and with a dash the now much augmented mob surged in that direction.
Under old Saunders the Fairburn men disputed every yard of the way,
but they were entirely outnumbered, and were slowly but surely forced
back upon the works they had so recently left. All had happened in the
course of a very few minutes.
George, on his way to his home, some half mile away, had made scarce
half the distance when his ears were assailed by the noise of conflict
somewhere behind him. He stopped and listened, the yells growing
louder and fiercer every instant. Then he darted back towards the pit,
reaching the spot just in time to see his men make a dash for the
shelter of the sheds around the mouth, followed by a howling,
threatening mob.
In a moment the youngster sprang through the entrance of the largest
of the sheds, and closed the door, shooting home the two thick rough
bars of wood that did duty for bolts, amid shouts from his men of "The
young gaffer! We'll all stick to him!" And in spite of his youth,
George was at once installed as captain of the little Fairburn band.
He had always been highly popular with the men of the colliery; they
liked his entire freedom from vain show and swagger, and his
pleasant-spoken manner.
"What have we in the way of weapons, lads?" he asked, taking a hasty
glance round the dimly-lit shed. Darkness was coming on apace even
outside; within the shed the men had to grope their way about.
There was very little that would serve, except a number of pickaxes, a
few shovels, and two or three hayforks belonging to the stables. These
were served out, and then one man found the master's gun, with a
powder-flask and a handful of sparrow shot.
"Better let me have that," said George, quietly relieving the man of
the weapon, the old overlooker approving with a "Aye, that's right;
you'll keep a cooler head than Tom there."
The mob outside surged down on the door in force, and with loud yells.
The door stood the shock, and the major part of the attackers in a
trice turned their attention to the smaller buildings dotted here and
there about the pit's mouth. One by one these sheds were pulled to
pieces, to the ever-increasing delight of the mob. George and his men
were powerless to stop the destruction.
"We must not venture out," the boy said, "unless the scoundrels turn
their attention to the windlasses and the gear."
So his men had to grind their teeth in rage and look on helplessly.
As was expected, the rioters presently came back to the big shed, one
of them, evidently the leader, advancing with a felling-axe.
"Keep back, rascal!" shouted George. "Keep from the door, or I'll put
a few peppercorns into your hide."
From a chink in the door George recognized him as the very man he had
so unceremoniously knocked from his perch and so merrily battered in
the bout of singlestick that day on the landing-stage.
The fellow answered with a curse and lifted his axe to stave in the
door. Before the weapon could descend a report rang out in the
twilight, and with a scream the attacker sprang from the ground, and
then fell to rubbing his legs vigorously.
"One on 'em peppered," remarked old Saunders grimly.
The crowd outside fell back in haste, and a burly fellow at that
instant appearing on the scene with a small cask of ale on his
shoulder, a diversion was caused. The fight was transferred to the
circle round the ale barrel, the already half-crazy fellows struggling
desperately to get at the liquor.
"By Jupiter!" cried George, seeing his opportunity in a moment, "now
is our chance! Let them get fully occupied and we have them. Let them
once return and they will be madder and more reckless than ever."
And seizing every man his weapon, the little party in the shed
prepared to sally forth, old Saunders whispering to his next
neighbour, "The lad is a game 'un, if ever I saw one."
Just as George was preparing to draw the bolts he caught sight of
young Blackett. His old schoolfellow was haranguing the men,
gesticulating violently, and pointing excitedly towards the large
shed. Matthew had in reality just heard of the fray, and had at once
run up to do what he could to stop it. But George Fairburn did not
know this. "The knave!" he exclaimed, beside himself with anger, "he's
the very ringleader of the party! He's kept himself till now in the
background. But he shall pay for his pains!"
Flinging back the bars, George dashed forth upon the ale-drinking
group his little band following at his heels. With a shout they
swooped down upon the foe, and in an instant a score of heads were
broken, the luckless owners flung in all directions around the cask.
One of the prostrate ones held the spigot in his hand, and the
remainder of the liquor bubbled itself merrily to the ground.
So utterly unprepared were the fellows for the onset, and so mauled
were they in the very first rush, that a general alarm was raised. In
the darkening they imagined themselves surrounded by a strong
reinforcement of the Fairburn party, and at once there was a wild
stampede from the premises. Men and hobbledehoys stumbled off in hot
haste, pursued by the victorious handful under George.
Not that George himself gave any heed to all this. At the very first
he had dashed to the spot where Matthew Blackett was excitedly
shouting to the rioters.
"Coward!" cried Fairburn, "to set on your scoundrelly fellows--"
"Set on the fellows!" Matthew began in amazement, but he got no
farther.
"Up with your fists!" cried George, "and we will see which is the
better man!"
There was no time for explanations, though young Blackett opened his
mouth to speak. He had in truth but time to throw up his hands to ward
off George's vigorous blow, and the next moment the fight was in full
swing. Matthew was no coward, and once in for warm work, he played his
part manfully. At it the two boys went, each hitting hard, and both
coming in for a considerable share of pummelling. For a time none
heeded them, every man having enough to do in other quarters. But at
length they were surrounded by a small group of the Fairburn men who
had now driven off the enemy and remained masters of the field.
Once or twice, when the two stopped a moment to recover breath,
Matthew opened his mouth again to make an explanation, but as often
his pride held him back, and he said nothing. So the fight went on.
How long this fierce duel might have lasted it is hard to say. But
just as the boys were almost at the end of their strength there was an
effective interruption. It was time, for both combatants were heavily
punished. They had not been so ill-matched as one might at first sight
have suspected. George was the stronger and harder fellow, but Matthew
had the advantage in the matter of height, and more particularly in
length of arm, which enabled him to get in a blow when his opponent's
fell short; though the less robust of the two he had as much pluck as
pride, and would have fought on to the last gasp.
The sound of clattering hoofs was heard, and, from opposite quarters,
two horsemen dashed up. They were Mr. Blackett and the elder Fairburn.