Henry had now to choose between his mother's advice, and Miss Carden's commands; and this made him rather sullen and irritable. He was glad to get out of his mother's house, and went direct to the works. Bayne welcomed him warmly, and, after some friendly congratulations and inquiries, pulled out two files of journals, and told him he had promised to introduce him to the editor of the Liberal. He then begged Henry to wait in the office, and read the files—he would not be gone many minutes.
The Constitutional gave a dry narrative of the outrage, and mourned the frequency of such incidents.
The Liberal gave a dramatic narrative, and said the miscreant must have lowered himself by a rope from the parapet, and passed the powder inside without entering. “He periled his life to perpetrate this crime; and he also risked penal servitude for ten years. That he was not deterred by the double risk, proves the influence of some powerful motive; and that motive must have been either a personal feud of a very virulent kind, or else trade fanaticism. From this alternative there is no escape.”
Next day, both journals recorded a trade-meeting at “The Rising Sun.” Delegates from the Edge-Tool Forgers' Union, and the Edge-Tool Handlers' Union, and some other representatives of Hillsborough Unions, were present, and passed a resolution repudiating, with disgust, the outrage that had been recently committed, and directed their secretaries to offer a reward of twenty pounds, the same to be paid to any person who would give such information as should lead to the discovery of the culprit.
On this the Constitutional commented as follows:—“Although we never for a moment suspected these respectable Unions of conniving at this enormity, yet it is satisfactory to find them not merely passive spectators, but exerting their energy, and spending their money, in a praiseworthy endeavor to discover and punish the offenders.”
Henry laid down the paper, and his heart felt very warm to Jobson and Parkin. “Come,” said he, “I am glad of that. They are not half a bad sort, those two, after all.”
Then he took up the Liberal, and being young and generous, felt disgusted at its comment:
“This appears to be creditable to the two Unions in question. But, unfortunately, long experience proves that these small rewards never lead to any discovery. They fail so invariably, that the Unions do not risk a shilling by proffering them. In dramatic entertainments the tragedy is followed by a farce: and so it is with these sanguinary crimes in Hillsborough; they are always followed by a repudiation, and offers of a trumpery reward quite disproportionate to the offense, and the only result of the farce is to divert attention from the true line of inquiry as to who enacted the tragedy. The mind craves novelty, and perhaps these delegates will indulge that desire by informing us for once, what was the personal and Corsican feud which led—as they would have us believe—to this outrage; and will, at the same time, explain to us why these outrages with gunpowder have never, either in this or in any preceding case, attacked any but non-union men.”
When Henry had read thus far, the writer of the leader entered the room with Mr. Bayne.
A gentleman not above the middle height, but with a remarkable chest, both broad and deep; yet he was not unwieldy, like Dr. Amboyne, but clean-built, and symmetrical. An agreeable face, with one remarkable feature, a mouth full of iron resolution, and a slight humorous dimple at the corners.
He shook hands with Henry, and said, “I wish to ask you a question or two, in the way of business: but first let me express my sympathy, as a man, and my detestation of the ruffians that have so nearly victimized you.”
This was very hearty, and Henry thanked him with some emotion. “But, sir,” said he, “if I am to reply to your questions, you must promise me you will never publish my name.”
“It is on account of his mother,” whispered Bayne.
“Yes, sir. It was her misfortune to lose my father by a violent death, and of course you may imagine—”
“Say no more,” said Mr. Holdfast: “your name shall not appear. And—let me see—does your mother know you work here?”
“Yes, she does.”
“Then we had better keep Cheetham's name out as well.”
“Oh, thank you, sir, thank you. Now I'll answer any questions you like.”
“Well, then, I hear this outrage was preceded by several letters. Could I see them?”
“Certainly. I carry mine always in my pocket, for fear my poor mother should see them: and, Mr. Bayne, you have got Cheetham's.”
In another minute the whole correspondence was on the table, and Mr. Holdfast laid it out in order, like a map, and went through it, taking notes. “What a comedy,” said he. “All but the denouement. Now, Mr. Bayne, can any other manufacturers show me a correspondence of this kind?”
“Is there one that can't? There isn't a power-wheel, or a water-wheel, within eight miles of Hillsborough, that can't show you just such a correspondence as this; and rattening, or worse, at the tail of it.”
Mr. Holdfast's eye sparkled like a diamond. “I'll make the round,” said he. “And, Mr. Little, perhaps you will be kind enough to go with me, and let me question you, on the road. I have no sub-editor; no staff; I carry the whole journal on my head. Every day is a hard race between Time and me, and not a minute to spare.”
Mr. Cheetham was expected at the works this afternoon: so Henry, on leaving Mr. Holdfast, returned to them, and found him there with Bayne, looking, disconsolately, over a dozen orders for carving-tools.
“Glad to see you again, my lad,” said Cheetham. “Why, you look all the better.”
“I'm none the worse, sir.”
“Come to take your balance and leave me?” This was said half plaintively, half crossly.
“If you wish it, sir.”
“Not I. How is it to be?”
“Well, sir, I say to you what you said to me the other day, Stick to me, and I'll stick to you.”
“I'll stick to you.”
Bayne held up his hands piteously to them both.
“What sir?” faltered he, turning to Cheetham, “after all your experience!” then to Henry, “What, fight the Trades, after the lesson they have given you?”
“I'll fight them all the more for that,” said Henry, grinding his teeth; “fight them till all is blue.”
“So will I. That for the Trades!”
“Heaven help you both!” groaned Bayne, and looked the picture of despair.
“You promised me shutters, with a detonator, sir.”
“Ay, but you objected.”
“That was before they blew me up.”
“Just so. Shutters shall be hung to-morrow; and the detonators I'll fix myself.”
“Thank you, sir. Would you mind engaging a watchman?”
“Hum? Not—if you will share the expense.”
“I'll pay one-third.”
“Why should I pay two thirds? It is not like shutters and Bramah locks: they are property. However, he'll be good against rattening; and you have lost a fortnight, and there are a good many orders. Give me a good day's work, and we won't quarrel over the watchman.” He then inquired, rather nervously, whether there was anything more.
“No, sir: we are agreed. And I'll give you good work, and full time.”
The die was cast, and now he must go home and face his mother. For the first time this many years he was half afraid to go near her. He dreaded remonstrances and tears: tears that he could not dry; remonstrances that would worry him, but could not shake him.
This young man, who had just screwed his physical courage up to defy the redoubtable Unions had a fit of moral cowardice, and was so reluctant to encounter the gentlest woman in England, that he dined at a chop-house, and then sauntered into a music hall, and did not get home till past ten, meaning to say a few kind, hurried words, then yawn, and slip to bed.
But, meantime, Mrs. Little's mind had not been idle. She had long divined a young rival in her son's heart, and many a little pang of jealousy had traversed her own. This morning, with a quickness which may seem remarkable to those who have not observed the watchful keenness of maternal love, she had seen that her rival had worked upon Henry to resign his declared intention of leaving Hillsborough. Then she felt her way, and, in a moment, she had found the younger woman was the stronger.
She assumed as a matter of course, that this girl was in love with Henry (who would not be in love with him?), and had hung, weeping, round his neck, when he called from Cairnhope to bid her farewell, and had made him promise to stay. This was the mother's theory; wrong, but rational.
Then came the question, What should she do? Fight against youth and nature? Fight, unlikely to succeed, sure to irritate and disturb. Risk any of that rare affection and confidence her son had always given her?
While her thoughts ran this way, seven o'clock came, and no Henry. Eight o'clock, and no Henry. “Ah!” thought the mother, “that one word of mine has had this effect already.”
She prepared an exquisite little supper. She made her own toilet with particular care; and, when all was ready, she sat down and comforted herself by reading his letters, and comparing his love with the cavalier behavior of so many sons in this island, the most unfilial country in Europe.
At half past ten Henry came up the stairs, not with the usual light elastic tread, but with slow, hesitating foot. Her quick ear caught that too, and her gentle bosom yearned. What, had she frightened him? He opened the door, and she rose to receive him all smiles. “You are rather late, dear,” she said; “but all the better. It has given me an excuse for reading your dear letters all over again; and I have a thousand questions to ask you about Cairnhope. But sit down first, and have your supper.”
Henry brightened up, and ate a good supper, and his mother plied him with questions, all about Cairnhope.
Here was an unexpected relief. Henry took a superficial view of all this. Sharp young men of twenty-four understand a great many things; but they can't quite measure their mothers yet.
Henry was selfishly pleased, but not ungrateful, and they passed a pleasant and affectionate time: and, as for leaving Hillsborough, the topic was avoided by tacit consent.
Next morning, after this easy victory, Henry took a cab and got to “Woodbine Villa” by a circuitous route. His heart beat high as he entered the room where Grace was seated. After the extraordinary warmth and familiarity she had shown him at the last interview, he took for granted he had made a lasting progress in her regard.
But she received him with a cold and distant manner, that quite benumbed him. Grace Carden's face and manner were so much more expressive than other people's, that you would never mistake or doubt the mood she was in; and this morning she was freezing.
The fact is, Miss Carden had been tormenting herself: and when beauty suffers, it is very apt to make others suffer as well.
“I am glad you are come, Mr. Little,” said she, “for I have been taking myself to task ever since, and I blame myself very much for some things I said. In the first place, it was not for me” (here the fair speaker colored up to the temples) “to interfere in your affairs at all: and then, if I must take such a liberty, I ought to have advised you sensibly, and for your good. I have been asking people, and they all tell me it is madness for one person to fight against these Unions. Everybody gets crushed. So now let me hope you will carry out your wise intention, and leave Hillsborough; and then my conscience will be at ease.”
Every word fell like an icicle on her hearer's heart. To please this cold, changeful creature, he had settled to defy the unchangeable Unions, and had been ready to resist his mother, and slight her immortal and unchanging love.
“You don't answer me, sir!” said Miss Carden, with an air of lofty surprise.
“I answered you yesterday,” said he sullenly. “A man can't chop and change like a weathercock.”
“But it is not changing, it's only going back to your own intention. You know you were going to leave Hillsborough, before I talked all that nonsense. Your story had set me on fire, and that's my only excuse. Well, now, the same person takes the liberty to give you wise and considerate advice, instead of hot, and hasty, romantic nonsense. Which ought you to respect most—folly or reason—from the same lips?”
Henry seemed to reflect. “That sounds reasonable,” said he: “but, when you advised me not to show the white feather, you spoke your heart; now, you are only talking from your head. Then, your beautiful eyes flashed fire, and your soul was in your words: who could resist them? And you spoke to me like a friend; now you speak to me like an enemy.”
“Oh, Mr. Little, that is ridiculous.”
“You do, though. And I'm sure I don't know why.”
“Nor I. Perhaps because I am cross with myself; certainly not with you.”
“I am glad of that. Well, then, the long and the short is, you showed me you thought it cowardly to fly from the Trades. You wouldn't, said you, if you were a man. Well, I'm a man; and I'll do as you would do in my place. I'll not throw my life away, I'll meet craft with craft, and force with force; but fly I never will. I'll fight while I've a leg to stand on.”
With these words he began to work on the bust, in a quiet dogged way that was, nevertheless, sufficiently expressive.
Grace looked at him silently for half a minute, and then rose from her chair.
“Then,” said she, “I must go for somebody of more authority than I am.” She sailed out of the room.
Henry asked Jael who she was gone for.
“It will be her papa,” said Jael.
“As if I care for what he says.”
“I wouldn't show HER that, if I was you,” said Jael, quietly, but with a good deal of weight.
“You are right,” said Henry. “You are a good girl. I don't know which is the best, you or Martha. I say, I promised to go to Cairnhope some Sunday, and see them all. Shall I drive you over?”
“And bring me back at night?”
“If you like. I must come back.”
“I'll ask Miss Carden.”
The words were quiet and composed, but the blushing face beamed with unreasonable happiness; and Grace, who entered at that moment with her father, was quite struck with its eloquence; she half started, but took no further notice just then. “There, papa,” said she, “this is Mr. Little.”
Mr. Carden was a tall gentleman, with somewhat iron features, but a fine head of gray hair; rather an imposing personage; not the least pompous though; quite a man of the world, and took a business view of everything, matrimony, of course, included.
“Oh, this is Mr. Little, is it, whose work we all admire so much?”
“Yes, papa.”
“And whose adventure has made so much noise?”
“Yes, papa.”
“By-the-bye, there is an article to-day on you: have you seen it? No? But you should see it; it is very smart. My dear” (to Jael), “will you go to my study, and bring the Liberal here?”
“Yes, but meantime, I want you to advise him not to subject himself to more gunpowder and things, but to leave the town; that is all the wretches demand.”
“And that,” said Henry, with a sly, deferential tone, “is a good deal to demand in a free country, is it not, sir?”
“Indeed it is. Ah, here comes the Liberal. Somebody read the article to us, while he works. I want to see how he does it.”
Curiosity overpowered Grace's impatience, for a moment, and she read the notice out with undisguised interest.
“'THE LAST OUTRAGE.
“'In our first remarks upon this matter, we merely laid down an alternative which admits of no dispute; and, abstaining from idle conjectures, undertook to collect evidence. We have now had an interview with the victim of that abominable outrage. Mr.—— is one of those superior workmen who embellish that class for a few years, but invariably rise above it, and leave it' (there—Mr. Little!)—'He has informed us that he is a stranger in Hillsborough, lives retired, never sits down in a public-house, and has not a single enemy in Hillsborough, great or small. He says that his life was saved by his fellow-workmen, and that as he lay scorched—'(Oh, dear!')
“Well, go on, Grace.”
“It is all very well to say go on, papa—'scorched and bleeding on the ground and unable to distinguish faces' (poor, poor Mr. Little!) 'he heard, on all sides of him, expressions of rugged sympathy and sobs, and tears, from rough, but—manly fellows, who—'(oh! oh! oh!”)
Grace could not go on for whimpering, and Jael cried, for company. Henry left off carving, and turned away his head, touched to the heart by this sweet and sudden sympathy.
“How badly you read,” said Mr. Carden, and took the journal from her. He read in a loud business-like monotone, that, like some blessed balm, dried every tear. “'Manly fellows who never shed a tear before: this disposed of one alternative, and narrowed the inquiry. It was not a personal feud; therefore it was a Trade outrage, or it was nothing. We now took evidence bearing on the inquiry thus narrowed; and we found the assault had been preceded by a great many letters, all of them breathing the spirit of Unionism, and none of them intimating a private wrong. These letters, taken in connection, are a literary curiosity; and we find there is scarcely a manufacturer in the place who has not endured a similar correspondence, and violence at the end of it. This curious chapter of the human mind really deserves a separate heading, and we introduce it to our readers as
“THE LITERATURE OF OUTRAGE.”
“'First of all comes a letter to the master intimating that he is doing something objectionable to some one of the many Unions that go to make a single implement of hardware. This letter has three features. It is signed with a real name. It is polite. It is grammatical.
“'If disregarded, it is speedily followed by another. No. 2 is grammatical, or thereabouts; but, under a feigned politeness, the insolence of a vulgar mind shows itself pretty plainly, and the master is reminded what he suffered on some former occasion when he rebelled against the trades. This letter is sometimes anonymous, generally pseudonymous.
“'If this reminder of the past and intimation of the future is disregarded, the refractory master gets a missive, which begins with an affectation of coarse familiarity, and then rises, with a ludicrous bound, into brutal and contemptuous insolence. In this letter, grammar is flung to the winds, along with good manners; but spelling survives, by a miracle. Next comes a short letter, full of sanguinary threats, and written in, what we beg leave to christen, the Dash dialect, because, though used by at least three million people in England, and three thousand in Hillsborough, it can only be printed with blanks, the reason being simply this, that every sentence is measled with oaths and indecencies. These letters are also written phonetically, and, as the pronunciation, which directs the spelling, is all wrong, the double result is prodigious. Nevertheless, many of these pronunciations are ancient, and were once universal. An antiquarian friend assures us the orthography of these blackguards, the scum of the nineteenth century, is wonderfully like that of a mediaeval monk or baron.
“'When the correspondence has once descended to the Dash dialect, written phonetically, it never remounts toward grammar, spelling or civilization; and the next in the business is rattening, or else beating, or shooting, or blowing-up the obnoxious individual by himself, or along with a houseful of people quite strange to the quarrel. Now, it is manifest to common sense, that all this is one piece of mosaic, and that the criminal act it all ends in is no more to be disconnected from the last letter, than the last letter from its predecessor, or letter three from letter two. Here is a crime first gently foreshadowed, then grimly intimated, then directly threatened, then threatened in words that smell of blood and gunpowder, and then—done. The correspondence and the act reveal—
“The various talents, but the single mind.”
“'In face of this evidence, furnished by themselves, the trades Unions, some member of which has committed this crime, will do well to drop the worn-out farce of offering a trumpery reward and to take a direct and manly course. They ought to accept Mr.——'s preposterously liberal offer, and admit him to the two Unions, and thereby disown the criminal act in the form most consolatory to the sufferer: or else they should face the situation, and say, “This act was done under our banner, though not by our order, and we stand by it.” The Liberal will continue to watch the case.'”
“This will be a pill,” said Mr. Carden, laying down the paper. “Why, they call the Liberal the workman's advocate.”
“Yes, papa,” said Grace; “but how plainly he shows—But Mr. Little is a stranger, and even this terrible lesson has not—So do pray advise him.”
“I shall be very happy; but, when you are my age, you will know it is of little use intruding advice upon people.”
“Oh, Mr. Little will treat it with proper respect, coming from one so much older than himself, and better acquainted with this wretched town. Will you not, Mr. Little?” said she, with so cunning a sweetness that the young fellow was entrapped, and assented, before he knew what he was about; then colored high at finding himself committed.
Mr. Carden reflected a moment. He then said, “I can't take upon myself to tell any man to give up his livelihood. But one piece of advice I can conscientiously give Mr. Little.”
“Yes, papa.”
“And that is—TO INSURE HIS LIFE.”
“Oh, papa!” cried Grace.
As for Henry he was rather amused, and his lip curled satirically. But the next moment he happened to catch sight of Jael Dence's face; her gray eyes were expanded with a look of uneasiness; and, directly she caught his eye she fixed it, and made him a quick movement of the head, directing him to assent.
There was something so clear and decided in the girl's manner that it overpowered Henry who had no very clear idea to oppose to it, and he actually obeyed the nod of this girl, whom he had hitherto looked on as an amiable simpleton.
“I have no objection to that,” said he, turning to Mr. Carden. Then, after another look at Jael, he said, demurely, “Is there any insurance office you could recommend?”
Mr. Carden smiled. “There is only one I have a right to recommend, and that is the 'Gosshawk.' I am a director. But,” said he, with sudden stiffness, “I could furnish you with the names of many others.”
Henry saw his way clear by this time. “No, sir, if I profit by your advice, the least I can do is to choose the one you are a director of.”
Grace, who had latterly betrayed uneasiness and irritation, now rose, red as fire. “The conversation is taking a turn I did not at all intend,” said she, and swept out of the room with royal disdain.
Her father apologized carelessly for her tragical exit. “That is a young lady who detests business; but she does not object to its fruits—dresses, lace, footmen, diamonds, and a carriage to drive about in. On the contrary, she would be miserable without them.”
“I should hope she never will be without them, sir.”
“I'll take care of that.”
Mr. Carden said this rather dryly, and then retired for a minute; and Grace who was not far off, with an ear like a hare, came back soon after.
But in the meantime Henry left his seat and went to Jael, and, leaning over her as she worked, said, “There is more in that head of yours than I thought.”
“Oh, they all talk before me,” said Jael, blushing faintly, and avoiding his eye.
“Jael Dence,” said the young man, warmly, “I'm truly obliged to you.”
“What for?”
“For your good advice. I didn't see how good it was till after I had taken it.”
“I'm afeard Miss Grace gave you better.”
“She advised me against my heart. What is the use of that?”
“Ay, young men are willful.”
“Come, come, don't you go back. You are my friend and counselor.”
“That is something,” said Jael, in a low voice; and her hands trembled at her side.
“Why, my dear girl, what's the matter?”
“Hush! hush?”
Grace came in, that moment, with a superb air. She settled herself on the sofa.
“Now, it is my turn, if you please. Pray, sir, do you think your life will be any safer for your insuring it? Insuring does not mean that you are not to be killed; but that, when you ARE, for your obstinacy, somebody else will get paid some money, to dance with over your grave.”
“I beg your pardon, Grace,” said Mr. Carden, entering with some printed papers in his hand. “That is not the only use of an insurance. He may want to marry, or to borrow a sum of money to begin business; and then a policy of insurance, with two or three premiums paid, smooths the difficulty. Everybody should make a will, and everybody should insure his life.”
“Well then, sir, I will do both.”
“Stop!” said Mr. Carden, who could now afford to be candid. “First of all, you ought to satisfy yourself of the flourishing condition of the company.” He handed him a prospectus. “This will show you our capital, and our disbursements last year, and the balance of profit declared. And this gives the balance sheet of the 'Vulture' and the 'Falcon,' which have assigned their business to us, and are now incorporated in the 'Gosshawk.'”
“Oh, what a voracious bird!” observed Grace. “I hope these other chickabiddies will not prove indigestible. Were they plucked first, papa? or did the 'Gosshawk' swallow them feathers and all?”
Little laughed heartily at this pert sally, but Mr. Carden winced under it.
Then Grace saw she was not quite weaponless, and added, “After such a meal, as that, Mr. Little, you will go down like a crumb.”
“Grace, that is enough,” said Mr. Carden, rather severely.
Grace held her tongue directly, and the water came into her eyes. Anything like serious remonstrance was a novelty to her.
When Henry had read the papers, Mr. Carden asked him, rather carelessly, what sum he wished to be insured for.
Now Henry had so little wish about the matter, that he had not given it a thought, and the question took him quite aback. He looked helplessly at Jael. To his surprise, she decided on the sum for him, without a moment's hesitation, and conveyed the figure with that dexterity which the simplest of her sex can command whenever telegraphy is wanted. She did it with two unbroken movements; she put up all the fingers of her right hand to her brow, and that meant five: then she turned her hand rapidly, so as to hide her mouth from the others, who were both on her right hand, and she made the word thousand clear, with her lips and tongue, especially the “th.”
But the sum staggered Henry; and made him think he must be misinterpreting her.
He hesitated, to gain time. “Hum!” said he, “the sum?”
Jael repeated her pantomime as before.
Still Henry doubted, and, to feel his way, said, half interrogatively, “Five—thou—sand?”
Jael nodded.
“Five thousand pounds,” said Henry, as bold as brass.
“Five thousand pounds!” cried Mr. Carden. “A workman insure his life for five thousand pounds!”
“Well, a man's life is worth five thousand pounds, or it is worth nothing. And, sir, how long do you think I shall be a workman, especially in Hillsborough, where from workman to master is no more than hopping across a gutter?”
Mr. Carden smiled approval. “But five thousand pounds! The annual premium will be considerable. May I ask about how much you make a year?”
“Oh, papa!”
“Well, sir, Mr. Cheetham pays me L300 a year, at the rate of, and I can make another L100 by carving at odd times. But, if you doubt my ability, let us stay as we are, sir. It was your proposal, not mine, you know.”
“Young man,” said Mr. Carden, “never be peppery in business.” He said this so solemnly and paternally, it sounded like the eleventh commandment.
To conclude, it was arranged Henry should take the higher class of insurance, which provided for accidents, voyages, everything, and should be insured for L5000, provided the physician appointed by the company should pronounce him free from disease.
Henry then rose, and said, sorrowfully, to Grace, “You will not see me here very often now; and never on Saturday afternoon or Monday morning. I am not going to have some blackguard tracking me, and flinging a can of gunpowder in at your window. When I do come, it will be in the morning, and on a working day; and I shall perhaps go ten miles round to get here. It must be diamond cut diamond, for many a month to come, between the Trades and me.” He uttered these words with manly gravity, as one who did not underrate the peril he was resolved to face; and left them with a respectful bow.
“That's a rising man,” said Mr. Carden; “and may draw a hundred of his class to the 'Gosshawk.' It was a good stroke of business, quite out of the common.”
Grace said not a word, but she shook her head and looked pained and ill at ease. Jael watched her fixedly.
Henry called at the works that night, and examined the new defenses, with Mr. Cheetham. He also bought a powerful magnifying-glass; and next morning he came to the factory, examined the cinders, and everything else, with the magnifier, lighted his forge, and resumed his work.
At dinner-time he went out and had his chop, and read the Liberal; it contained a letter from Jobson, in reply to the editor.
Jobson deplored the criminal act, admitted that the two Unions had decided no individual could be a forger, a handler, and a cutler; such an example was subversive of all the Unions in the city, based, as they were, on subdivision of crafts. “But,” said Mr Jobson, “we were dealing with the matter in a spirit quite inconsistent with outrages, and I am so anxious to convince the public of this, that I have asked a very experienced gentleman to examine our minute-books, and report accordingly.”
This letter was supplemented by one from Mr. Grotait, secretary of the Saw-Grinders, which ran thus:—“Messrs. Parkin and Jobson have appealed to me to testify to certain facts. I was very reluctant to interfere, for obvious reasons; but was, at last, prevailed on to examine the minute-books of those two Unions, and they certainly do prove that on the very evening before the explosion, those trades had fully discussed Mr. ——'s case” (the real name was put, but altered by the editor), “and had disposed of it as follows. They agreed, and this is entered accordingly, to offer him his traveling expenses (first class) to London, and one pound per week, from their funds, until such time as he should obtain employment. I will only add, that both these secretaries spoke kindly to me of Mr. ——; and, believing them to be sincere, I ventured to advise them to mark their disapproval of the criminal act, by offering him two pounds per week, instead of one pound; which advice they have accepted very readily.”
Henry was utterly confounded by these letters.
Holdfast commented on them thus:
“Messrs. Jobson and Parkin virtually say that if A, for certain reasons, pushes a man violently out of Hillsborough, and B draws him gently out of Hillsborough for the same reasons, A and B can not possibly be co-operating. Messrs. Parkin and Jobson had so little confidence in this argument, which is equivalent to saying there is no such thing as cunning in trade, that they employed a third party to advance it with all the weight of his popularity and seeming impartiality. But who is this candid person that objects to assume the judge, and assumes the judge? He is the treasurer and secretary of an Union that does not number three hundred persons; yet in that small Union, of which he is dictator, there has been as much rattening, and more shooting, and blowing-up wholesale and retail, with the farcical accompaniment of public repudiation, than in all the other Unions put together. We consider the entrance of this ingenuous personage on the scene a bad omen, and shall watch all future proceedings with increased suspicion.”
Henry had hardly done reading this, when a man came into the works, and brought him his fifteen pounds back from Mr. Jobson, and a line, offering him his expenses to London, and two pounds per week, from the Edge-Tool Forgers' box, till he should find employment. Henry took his money, and sent back word that the proposal came too late; after the dastardly attempt to assassinate him, he should defy the Unions, until they accepted his terms. Jobson made no reply. And Henry defied the Unions.
The Unions lay still, like some great fish at the bottom of a pool, and gave no sign of life or animosity. This did not lull Henry into a false security. He never relaxed a single precaution. He avoided “Woodbine Villa;” he dodged and doubled like a hare, to hide his own abode. But he forged, handled, and finished, in spite of the Unions.
The men were civil to him in the yard, and he had it all his own way, apparently.
He was examined by a surgeon, and reported healthy. He paid the insurance premium, and obtained the policy. So now he felt secure, under the aegis of the Press, and the wing of the “Gosshawk.” By-and-by, that great fish I have mentioned gave a turn of its tail, and made his placid waters bubble a little.
A woman came into the yard, with a can of tea for her husband, and a full apron. As she went out, she emptied a set of tools out of her apron on to an old grindstone, and slipped out.
The news of this soon traveled into the office, and both Cheetham and Bayne came out to look at them.
They were a set of carving-tools, well made, and highly polished; and there was a scrap of paper with this distich:
“We are Hillsborough made,Both haft and blade.”
Cheetham examined them, and said, “Well, they are clever fellows. I declare these come very near Little's: call him down and let us draw him.”
Bayne called to Henry, and that brought him down, and several more, who winded something.
“Just look at these,” said Cheetham.
Little colored: he saw the finger of the Unions at once, and bristled all over with caution and hostility.
“I see them, sir. They are very fair specimens of cutlery; and there are only about twenty tools wanting to make a complete set; but there is one defect in them as carving-tools.”
“What is that?”
“They are useless. You can't carve wood with them. None but a practical carver can design these tools, and then he must invent and make the steel molds first. Try and sell them in London or Paris, you'll soon find the difference. Mr. Bayne, I wonder you should call me from my forge to examine 'prentice-work.” And, with this, he walked off disdainfully, but not quite easy in his mind, for he had noticed a greedy twinkle in Cheetham's eye.
The next day all the grinders in Mr. Cheetham's employ, except the scissors-grinders, rose, all of a sudden, like a flock of partridges, and went out into the road.
“What is up now?” inquired Bayne. The answer was, their secretaries had sent for them.
They buzzed in the road, for a few minutes, and then came back to work.
At night there was a great meeting at the “Cutlers' Arms,” kept by Mr. Grotait.
At noon the next day, all the grinders aforesaid in Mr. Cheetham's employ walked into the office, and left, each of them, a signed paper to this effect:
“This is to give you notice that I will leave your service a week after the date thereof.” (Meaning “hereof,” I presume.)
Cheetham asked several of them what was up. Some replied civilly, it was a trade matter. Others suggested Mr. Cheetham knew as much about it as they did.
Not a single hot or uncivil word was spoken on either side. The game had been played too often for that, and with results too various.
One or two even expressed a sort of dogged regret. The grinder Reynolds, a very honest fellow, admitted, to Mr. Cheetham, that he thought it a sorry trick, for a hundred men to strike against one that had had a squeak for his life. “But no matter what I think or what I say, I must do what the Union bids me, sir.”
“I know that, my poor fellow,” said Cheetham. “I quarrel with none of you. I fight you all. The other masters, in this town, are mice, but I'm a man.”
This sentiment he repeated very often during the next six days.
The seventh came and the grinders never entered the works.
Cheetham looked grave. However, he said to Bayne, “Go and find out where they are. Do it cleverly now. Don't be noticed.”
Bayne soon ascertained they were all in the neighboring public-houses.
“I thought so,” said Cheetham. “They will come in, before night. They sha'n't beat me, the vagabonds. I'm a man, I'm not a mouse.”
“Orders pouring in, sir,” sighed Bayne. “And the grinders are rather behind the others in their work already.”
“They must have known that: or why draw out the grinders? How could they know it?”
“Sir,” said Bayne, “they say old Smitem is in this one. Wherever he is, the master's business is known, or guessed, heaven knows how; and, if there is a hole in his coat, that hole is hit. Just look at the cleverness of it, sir. Here we are, wrong with the forgers and handlers. Yet they come into the works and take their day's wages. But they draw out the grinders, and mutilate the business. They hurt you as much as if they struck, and lost their wages. But no, they want their wages to help pay the grinders on strike. Your only chance was to discharge every man in the works, the moment the grinders gave notice.”
“Why didn't you tell me so, then?”
“Because I'm not old Smitem. He can see a thing beforehand. I can see it afterward. I'm like the weatherwise man's pupil; as good as my master, give me time. The master could tell you, at sunrise, whether the day would be wet or dry, and the pupil he could tell you at sunset: and that is just the odds between old Smitem and me.”
“Well, if he is old Smitem, I'm old Fightem.”
At night, he told Bayne he had private information, that the grinders were grumbling at being made a cat's-paw of by the forgers and the handlers. “Hold on,” said he; “they will break up before morning.”
At ten o'clock next day he came down to the works, and some peremptory orders had poured in. “They must wait,” said he, peevishly.
At twelve he said, “How queer the place seems, and not a grindstone going. It seems as still as the grave. I'm a man; I'm not a mouse.”
Mr. Cheetham repeated this last fact in zoology three times, to leave no doubt of it in his own mind, I suppose.
At 1.00, he said he would shut up the works rather than be a slave.
At 1.15 he blustered.
At 1.20 he gave in: collapsed in a moment, like a punctured bladder. “Bayne,” said he, with a groan, “go to Jobson, and ask him to come and talk this foolish business over.”
“Excuse me, sir,” said Bayne. “Don't be offended; but you are vexed and worried, and whoever the Union sends to you will be as cool as marble. I have just heard it is Redcar carries the conditions.”
“What, the foreman of my own forgers! Is he to dictate to me?” cried Cheetham, grinding his teeth with indignation.
“Well, sir, what does it matter?” said Bayne, soothingly. “He is no more than a mouthpiece.”
“Go for him,” said Cheetham, sullenly.
“But, sir, I can't bear that your own workman should see you so agitated.”
“Oh, I shall be all right the moment I see my man before me.”
Bayne went off, and soon returned with Redcar. The man had his coat on, but had not removed his leathern apron.
Cheetham received him as the representative of the Unions. “Sit down, Redcar, and let us put an end to this little bother. What do you require?”
“Mr. Little's discharge, sir.”
“Are you aware he is with me on a month's notice?”
“They make a point of his leaving the works at once, sir; and I was to beg you to put other hands into his room.”
“It is taking a great liberty to propose that.”
“Nay. They only want to be satisfied. He has given a vast o' trouble.”
“I'll give him a month's warning. If I discharge him on the spot, he can sue me.”
“That has been thought on. If he sues you, you can talk to the Unions, and they will act with you. But the grinders are not to come in till Little is out.”
“Well, so be it, then.”
“And his rooms occupied by Union men?”
“If I swallow the bolus, I may as well swallow the pills. Anything more?”
“The grinders are not to lose their time; a day and a half.”
“What! am I to pay them for not working?”
“Well, sir, if we had come to you, of course the forgers and handlers would have paid the grinders for lost time; but, as you have come to us, you will have to pay them.”
Cheetham made a wry face; but acquiesced.
“And then, sir,” said Redcar, “there's another little matter. The incidental expenses of the strike.”
“I don't know what you mean.”
“The expenses incurred by the secretaries, and a little present to another gentleman, who advised us. It comes to thirty pounds altogether.”
“What!” cried Cheetham, struggling with his rising choler. “You want me to pay men thirty pounds for organizing a strike, that will cost me so dear, and rob me of a whole trade that was worth L300 a year? Why not charge me for the gunpowder you blew up Little with, and spoiled my forge? No, Bayne, no; this is too unjust and too tyrannical. Flesh and blood won't bear it. I'll shut up the works, and go back to my grindstone. Better live on bread and water than live like a slave.”
Redcar took a written paper out of his pocket. “There are the terms written down,” said he, “if you sign them, the strike ends; if you don't, it continues—till you do.”
Cheetham writhed under the pressure. Orders were pouring in; trade brisk; hands scarce. Each day would add a further loss of many pounds for wages, and doubtless raise fresh exactions. He gulped down something very like a sob, and both his hand and his voice shook with strong passion as he took the pen. “I'll sign it; but if ever my turn comes, I'll remember this against you. This shows what they really are, Bayne. Oh, if ever you workmen get power, GOD HELP THE WORLD!”
These words seemed to come in a great prophetic agony out of a bursting heart.
But the representative of the Unions was neither moved by them nor irritated.
“All right,” said he, phlegmatically; “the winner takes his bite: the loser gets his bark: that's reason.”
Henry Little was in his handling-room, working away, with a bright perspective before him, when Bayne knocked at the door, and entered with Redcar. Bayne's face wore an expression so piteous, that Henry divined mischief at once.
“Little, my poor fellow, it is all over. We are obliged to part with you.”
“Cheetham has thrown me over?”
“What could he do? I am to ask you to vacate these rooms, that we may get our half-day out of the grinders.”
Henry turned pale, but there was no help for it.
He got up in a very leisurely way; and, while he was putting on his coat, he told Bayne, doggedly, he should expect his month's salary.
As he was leaving, Redcar spoke to him in rather a sheepish way. “Shake hands, old lad,” said he; “thou knows one or t'other must win; and there's not a grain of spite against thee. It's just a trade matter.”
Henry stood with his arms akimbo, and looked at Redcar. “I was in hopes,” said he, grinding his teeth, “you were going to ask me to take a turn with you in the yard, man to man. But I can't refuse my hand to one of my own sort that asks it. There 'tis. After all, you deserve to win, for you are true to each other; but a master can't be true to a man, nor to anything on earth, but his pocket.”
He then strolled out into the yard, with his hands in his pockets, and whistled “The Harmonious Blacksmith” very sick at heart.