HARD TIMES.
It was when the pinch came, the subscriptions fell off, and the weekly
payments by the union dwindled to a few shillings for the support of a
whole family, that the rough virtues of the people of the mining
districts came strongly into prominence. Starvation was doing its work,
and told first upon the women and children. Little faces, awhile since
so rosy and bright, grew thin and pinched, chubby arms shrank until the
bone could almost be seen through the skin, and low fever, a sure
accompaniment of want, made its appearance.
No more tender and devoted nurses could be found than the rough women,
who hushed their voices, and stole with quiet feet around the little
beds, letting fall many a silent tear when the sufferer asked for little
things, for tea or lemonade, which there were no means to purchase, or
when the doctor shook his head and said that good food and not medicine
was needed.
The pitmen themselves would saunter aimlessly in and out of the houses,
so changed from the cottages well stocked with furniture, with
gay-coloured pictures on the wall, an eight-day clock, and many another
little valuable, and all gone one after another. Very many of them lived
upon the scantiest allowance of dry bread which would keep life
together, in order that the allowance might all go for the children,
retaining as their sole luxury a penny or two a week for the purchase of
a pipe or two of tobacco daily. Had it not been for the soup-kitchen
scores of children would have died, but the pint of soup and the slice
of bread enabled them to live.
There was no talk of surrender yet, although compromises, which would at
first have been indignantly rejected, were now discussed, and a
deputation had waited upon Mr. Brook, but the owner refused to enter
into any compromise.
"No, never," he said; "you have chosen to join the hands of the other
pits in an endeavour to force your employers into giving you a higher
rate of wages than they can afford to pay. I, therefore, have joined the
other employers. We know, what you cannot know, what are our expenses,
and what we can afford to pay, and we will accept no dictation whatever
from the men as to their rate of wages. If I prefer, as I do prefer,
that the colliery should stand idle, to raising your rate of wages, it
is a clear proof that I should lose money if I agreed to your demand. If
needs be I would rather that the pit was closed for a year, or for ten
years. We have bound ourselves together to make no advance, just as you
have bound yourselves not to go to work at the old rate. When you choose
to go in at that rate there are your places ready for you, but I will
give way in no single point, I will not pay a halfpenny a ton more than
before. You best know how long you can hold out. Don't let it be too
long, lads, for the sake of your wives and children; remember that the
time may come, when, thinking over some empty chair, recalling some
little face you will never see again, you will curse your folly and
obstinacy in ruining your homes, and destroying those dependent upon you
in a struggle in which it was from the first certain that you could not
win, and in which, even if you won, the amount at stake is not worth one
day of the suffering which you are inflicting upon those you love."
Left to themselves the men would have much sooner given in, would indeed
never have embarked on the strike, but the influence of the union being
over them, they feared to be called "black sheep," and to be taunted
with deserting the general cause, and so the strike went on.
The tale of the suffering over the wide district affected by the strike
was told through the land, and the subscriptions of the benevolent
flowed in. Public opinion was, however, strongly opposed to the strike,
and for the most part the money was subscribed wholly for soup-kitchen,
for children, and for relief of the sick. But the area was wide, there
were scores of villages as badly off as Stokebridge, and the share of
each of the general fund was very small. A local committee was formed,
of which the vicar was at the head, for the management of the funds, and
for organizing a body of nurses. All the women who had no children of
their own were enrolled upon its lists, and many of the girls of the
sewing-class volunteered their services.
No one during this sad time devoted herself more untiringly and
devotedly than Nelly Hardy. The quiet manner, the steady and resolute
face, rendered her an excellent nurse, and as her father and mother
were, perforce, sober, she could devote her whole time to the work. A
portion of the funds was devoted to the preparation of the articles of
food and drink necessary for the sick, and the kitchen of the schoolroom
was freely employed in making milk-puddings, barley-water, and other
things which brought pleasure and alleviation to the parched little lips
for which they were intended.
The distress grew daily more intense. The small traders could no longer
give credit; the pawnbrokers were so overburdened with household goods
that they were obliged absolutely to decline to receive more; the
doctors were worn out with work; the guardians of the poor were nearly
beside themselves in their efforts to face the frightful distress
prevailing; and the charitable committee, aided as they were by
subscriptions from without, could still do but little in comparison to
the great need. Jane Haden and the other women without families, did
their best to help nurse in the houses where sickness was rife. The
children were mere shadows, and the men and women, although far less
reduced, were yet worn and wasted by want of food. And still the strike
went on, still the men held out against the reduction. Some of the
masters had brought men from other parts, and these had to be guarded to
and from their work by strong bodies of police, and several serious
encounters had taken place. Some of the hands were wavering now, but the
party of resistance grew more and more violent, and the waverers dared
not raise their voices. The delegates of the union went about holding
meetings, and assuring their hearers that the masters were on the point
of being beaten, and must give way; but they were listened to in sullen
and gloomy silence by the men. Then came muttered threats and secret
gatherings; and then Jane Haden, obedient to her promise, but very
doubtful as to its wisdom, posted the letter Jack had left with her.
It was three o'clock next day before he arrived, for he had not received
the letter until he went out for his breakfast, and he had to go back to
his work and ask to be allowed to go away for the afternoon on
particular business, for which he was wanted at home.
"Well, mother, what is it?" was his first question on entering.
"I oughtn't to tell 'ee, Jack; and I do believe Bill would kill me if he
knew."
"He won't know, mother, and you must tell me," Jack said quietly.
"Well, my boy, yesterday afternoon Bill came in here with eight or ten
others. I were upstairs, but I suppose they thought I were out, and as I
did not want to disturb 'em, and was pretty nigh worn out--I had been up
three nights with Betsy Mullin's girl--I sat down and nigh dozed off.
The door was open, and I could hear what they said downstairs when they
spoke loud. At first they talked low, and I didn't heed what they were
saying; then I heard a word or two which frighted me, and then I got up
and went quiet to my door and listened. Jack, they are going to wreck
the engines, so as to stop the pumping and drown the mines. They are
going to do for the 'Vaughan,' and the 'Hill Side,' and 'Thorns,' and
the 'Little Shaft,' and 'Vale.' It's to be done to-night, and they begin
with the 'Vaughan' at ten o'clock, 'cause it's closest, I suppose."
"They are mad," Jack said sternly. "How are they to earn bread if they
flood the mines? and it will end by a lot of them being sent to jail for
years. But I'll stop it if it costs me my life."
"Oh, Jack! don't 'ee do anything rash," Mrs. Haden said piteously. "What
can one lad do against two or three hundred men?"
"Now, mother," Jack said promptly, not heeding her appeal, "what police
are there within reach?"
"The police were all sent away yesterday to Bampton. There were riots
there, I heard say. That's why they chose to-night."
"Now the first thing, mother, is to prevent dad from going out to-night.
He must be kept out of it, whatever others do. I've brought a bottle of
gin from Birmingham. Tell him I've come over for an hour or two to see
schoolmaster, and I'm going back again afterwards, but I've brought him
this as a present. Get the cork out; he's sure to drink a glass or two
anyhow, perhaps more, but it will send him off to sleep, sure enough.
It's the strongest I could get, and he's out of the way of drink now. I
don't suppose they'll miss him when they start; but if any one comes
round for him, you tell 'em I brought him some Old Tom over, and that
he's so dead sleepy he can't move. Later on, if you can, get some woman
or child to come in, and let them see him, so that there'll be a witness
he was at home when the thing came off, that'll make him safe. I've
thought it all over."
"But what be'est thou going to do, Jack?"
"Don't mind me, mother. I'm going to save the Vaughan colliery. Don't
you fret about me; all you've got to do is to make dad drink, which
ain't a difficult job, and to stick to the story that I have been over
for an hour to see schoolmaster. Good-bye, mother. Don't fret; it will
all come out right."
As Jack went down the street he tapped at the door of his friend's
house.
"Is Harry in?"
Harry was in, and came out at once.
"How's Annie?" was Jack's first question.
"Better, much better, Jack; the doctor thinks she'll do now. The broth
put fresh life into her; we're all better, Jack, thanks to you."
"That's all right, Harry. Put on your cap and walk with me to the
schoolroom. Now," he went on, as his friend rejoined him, and they
turned up the street, "will you do a job for me?"
"Anything in the world, Jack--leastways, anything I can."
"You may risk your life, Harry."
"All right, Jack, I'll risk it willing for you. You risked yours for me
at the old shaft."
"Dost know what's going to be done to-night Harry?"
"I've heard summat about it."
"It must be stopped, Harry, if it costs you and me our lives. What's
that when the whole district depends upon it? If they wreck the engines
and flood the mines there will be no work for months; and what's to
become of the women and children then? I'm going to Mr. Merton to tell
him, and to get him to write a letter to Sir John Butler--Brook's place
would be watched--he's the nearest magistrate, and the most active about
here, and won't let the grass grow under his feet by all accounts. The
letter must tell him of the attack that is to be made to-night, and ask
him to send for the soldiers, if no police can be had. I want you to
take the letter, Harry. Go out the other side of the village and make a
long sweep round. Don't get into the road till you get a full mile out
of the place. Then go as hard as you can till you get to Butler's.
Insist on seeing him yourself; say it's a question of life and death. If
he's out, you must go on to Hooper--he's the next magistrate. When you
have delivered the letter, slip off home and go to bed, and never let
out all your life that you took that letter."
"All right, Jack; but what be'est thou going to do?"
"I'm going another way, lad; I've got my work too. You'd best stop here,
Harry; I will bring the letter to you. It may get out some day that
Merton wrote it, and it's as well you shouldn't be seen near his place."