THE STRIKE AT THE WELL
One would have thought that so excellent a work as the digging of
the wells would be allowed to go on quietly, but unfortunately
the fact that the scheme happened to have been originated by the
vicar and the doctor was enough to make some people condemn it;
and we all know, when once the thin end of the wedge of
discontent and distrust has forced its way into anything, how
difficult--nay, how often impossible--it is to dislodge it. And
so it was that the men at the railway well, when they had dug to
the depth of nearly fifty feet and had found no water, began to
get impatient and disheartened. Most of the wells in Willowton
were not more than thirty or forty feet deep, and were fed, of
course, chiefly by surface drainage; hence their deadly poison.
These new wells were on the higher ground above the village, and
naturally water was to be found there only at a deeper level; but
these men either would not or could not take this in. Two of them
had had very little experience whatever in the work, and like all
novices, they looked for immediate results; and when these were
not forthcoming, they grumbled at the dowser, their employers,
and everything else. Their evil counsellors advised a strike for
higher wages than the unprecedented amount they were already
receiving, and so it happened that one hot morning, when the
vicar went up to see how they were progressing, he found the well
deserted, and no signs of the men anywhere. He walked up to it
and looked in. It was partially covered with planks in the usual
way, apparently just as they had left it the night before. He was
puzzled. The men had apparently struck. But why? he asked
himself. And nothing he could recall threw any light upon the
matter.
"That is the worst," he thought "of employing irregular workmen."
But it had been impossible at such short notice to procure all
professional well-sinkers, and he had thought himself very
fortunate to have secured two, one for each well; while all the
men, except Chapman, had seen the work going on at various farms
in the neighbourhood, if they had not actually assisted. They
were perfectly well aware of the nature of the work; they had
volunteered for it, and gone at it cheerfully enough. The strike
was altogether inexplicable.
The vicar paid his visit to the Union, and an hour later came on
to the bridge, where he saw all four men seated on the parapet,
smoking, and talking loudly and ostentatiously, as if they wished
to engage the attention of the passers-by. They were a
rough-looking gang, however, and nobody seemed inclined to stop.
Curiously enough, neither Corkam nor Farley was present.
"Good-morning, my men," he said pleasantly when he got within
speaking distance. "How is it you are not at work?"
A sort of sullen silence had come over them at his approach. No
one attempted to break it, but each looked covertly at the other
for guidance--all except the stranger, who turned his back and
became apparently deeply interested in the ducks on the water.
"You're all here, aren't you? No accident, I hope?" said the
vicar.
"No accident as I know on," answered the foreman at last.
He was a man who had been in the choir, but had left for some
stupid reason or fancied slight, known only to himself. Mr.
Rutland had been extremely kind to him always, and had helped him
more than once with money when an accident during harvest had
kept him out of work.
"Well," said the vicar, turning very red with an evident effort
to keep his temper, "since none of you have anything to say, I
will wish you good-morning."
"Well, but we have something to say," said another man roughly.
This man had had three children down with the fever, and the
doctor had given them every attention, even sitting up half the
night on occasion when two of them had been in a very critical
state. He had behaved very differently then from what he was
doing now. He thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and
tried to look as callous as he could.
The vicar looked at him for the eighth part of a second with
disgust.
"Well, then, Cadger, stand up and say it properly," he said
authoritatively.
The man slipped off the parapet, and stood looking very
uncomfortable, for all his swagger, under the vicar's scrutiny.
"Now, then," said the vicar sharply, "what is it? what is your
complaint?"
"We've struck," said two or three voices at once.
The vicar never once glanced at the graceless creatures still
dangling their legs, though less aggressively; he addressed
himself to Cadger.
"Oh, have you?" he said as calmly as he could. "What have you
struck for?"
"More wages," said Cadger, glancing at his comrades for
directions.
"Which you won't have," said the vicar quietly. He was quite calm
now and very white. "You agreed for what was considered by
yourselves, and by everybody else, a very generous wage. You have
no right to ask more. I, for one, will certainly not advocate it.
There is reason in all things, and money is not so plentiful in
Willowton as you seem to think. I am disappointed in you, Cadger,
particularly; I had thought better things of you. I fancied you,
at least, were anxious to take your share in lessening the
terrible trouble that has been put upon us; but I see now you
only thought of your own interest. With my consent, I tell you
honestly, you will not get a penny more."
"He! he!" laughed one or two of the men; but the vicar never
looked round.
"But," he added, "I am only one. You can bring your complaint in
proper form before the committee, and, of course, if the majority
agree, what I say will not stand; so you have your remedy."
He walked away as he finished speaking, and Cadger sat down
again. He did not say anything, for somehow or other, though he
felt very valiant at first, he began now to feel rather small.
There was an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, and then
the stranger, whose name was Hayes, knocked the ashes out of his
pipe against the root of a tree and spoke.
"He don't look such a bad sort," he said reflectively.
"I don't mind him so much," said Cadger patronizingly, "when he
mind 'is own business."
"Oh, indeed!" said the stranger with a twinkle. "Well, now,
whatever is 'is business?"
"Well, I s'pose that's te preach in th' church, and give the
money tue th' poor, and wisit th' sick."
"Yis. Well, go on; northin' more'n that?"
"Well yis," went on the man, never seeing that Hayes was "pulling
his leg:" "he've got ter due th' christenin', and th' marryin',
and th' buryin'."
"Well, that last ought ter give 'im plenty o' work in this hole,"
said Hayes rather brutally. "Well, go on. Anythin' more?"
"Well, he've got ter see after the schule, an' the clothin' club,
an' the parish room, an' sech like things."
"And don't he take no trouble about the choir? Don't he have no
Bible classes, nor confirmation classes, nor nothin'?"
"Oh yis, hev them," Cadger allowed.
"Well, then, there's them concerts, and trips to the seaside, and
school treats you was tellin' me about the other day. Don't he
have nothin' to do with them?"
"Oh yis; he manages them, in coorse."
"Oh, 'ndeed! Well, now, how about the cricket clubs and the
football clubs?"
"Oh, he's treasurer for them tue."
"Well, then--I don't hold much with parsons myself, but I should
like to know wat's _not_ his business!"
"That's not 'is business to come interferin' wi' us," said the
man who had laughed derisively. It was he who had insulted the
memory of Geo's father.
"Oh, ain't it? Well--- Don't be angry," as the man fired up; "I
only ask for information. Who had the startin' o' these here
wells?"
Nobody seemed anxious to answer this question, and Hayes did it
himself.
"Why, the parson hisself, didn't he? And aren't he and the doctor
answerable for the money? If any one has a right to say anything,
I should think the parson has. But you're on the strike, and
right or wrong you're in for it; but I don't mind tellin' of yer
I ain't--I'm only one to four, and that's no good holdin' out.
But I ain't one a' yer sneakin' sort; I ain't afeared ter speak
out, no more'n th' parson, and I tell yer honest I hain't struck.
I can't goo on by myself; but I've been a well-sinker all my
days, and I know I niver had sech good pay offered to me before,
and I'm content. If they don't give in, why, the well, I s'pose
will have to be closed. But that don't matter to me; I can get
plenty a' jobs at Ipswitch, an' I can go back where I come from,
quite agreeable."
He put his pipe back into his mouth when he had finished his
harangue, and puffed away for some moments in silence; and then
the storm broke. The other men were furious at his words. They
called him by every opprobrious name they could think of.
"All right," he said at last, leisurely pulling off his jacket;
"let's fight it out."
He stood up boldly in the middle of the road, with his head
thrown back and his fists clenched; but nobody seemed inclined to
accept his invitation.
A butcher's cart that was passing pulled up to see the fun, and
in a minute or less there was quite a crowd of small boys
standing round the angry group. Encouraged by the "gallery,"
Hayes, who had hitherto been perfectly good-humoured, was
beginning to be really angry, and in another minute would
probably have let fly at one or other of his late mates; but the
policeman, who happened to be at hand, stepped up in the nick of
time and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.
Hayes was sobered in a minute.
"All right, master, I don't want to fight. There ain't one a'
them but wot I could pound into mincemeat if I liked, but I'll
let 'em off since you've come."
He pulled down his shirt sleeves as he spoke, and Cadger and his
mates took the opportunity of slipping off, and in five minutes
the bridge was clear. Indeed, the whole scene had not lasted
quarter of an hour; and when Farley and Corkam emerged from the
back parlour of the Swan, their mortification and disgust at
having missed it knew no bounds. But there had been one silent
spectator who concerns our story--it was Geo Lummis. He had heard
it all, every word, as he hung over the bridge watching the
stream. It was no business of his, so he did not interfere; and
knowing that he would be questioned and cross-questioned a
hundred times over by both of them if they knew he had been
there, he turned off abruptly and went home.