Patience Wins: War in the Works

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  PANNELL'S PET.

  "Who's there?"

  "All right--open the door! Cob and I have come down to see how you aregetting on," said Uncle Jack.

  The gate was unlocked and a stout iron bar that had been added to thedefences taken down.

  "Why, what brings you two here?" cried Uncle Dick. "What's the matter?"

  "That's what we want to know. How long has the dog been uneasy?"

  "For the past hour. I had gone to lie down; Bob was watchman. All atonce Piter began barking furiously, and I got up directly."

  "Let's have another look round," said Uncle Jack.

  "Here, Piter!" I cried; "what's the matter, old fellow?"

  The dog whined and laid his great jowl in my hand, blinking up at me andtrying to make his savage grin seem to be a pleasant smile; but all atonce he started away, threw up his head, and barked again angrily.

  "What is it, old fellow?" I said. "Here, show us them. What is it?"

  Piter looked at me, whined, and then barked again angrily as if therewas something very wrong indeed; but he could only smell it in the air.What it was or where it was he did not seem to know.

  We had a good look round, searching everywhere, and not without a greatdeal of trepidation; for after the past night's experience with thepowder it was impossible to help feeling nervous.

  That's what Uncle Jack called it. I felt in a regular fright.

  "Everything seems quite satisfactory," Uncle Jack was fain to say atlast. And then, "Look here, boys," he cried, "Cob and I have beentalking this matter over, and we say that the works must take care ofthemselves. You two have to come back with us."

  "What! And leave the place to its fate?" said Uncle Dick.

  "Yes. Better do that than any mishap should come to you."

  "What do you say, Bob?"

  "I've a very great objection to being blown up, knocked on the head, orburned," said Uncle Bob quietly. "It's just so with a soldier; he doesnot want to be shot, bayoneted, or sabred, but he has to take hischance. I'm going to take mine."

  "So am I," said Uncle Dick.

  "But, my dear boys--"

  "There, it's of no use; is it, Bob?" cried Uncle Dick. "If we give wayhe'll always be bouncing over us about how he kept watch and wedaren't."

  "Nonsense!" cried Uncle Jack.

  "Well, if you didn't," said Uncle Bob, "that cocky consequential smallman of a boy, Cob, will be always going about with his nose in the airand sneering. I shall stay."

  "Then we will stay with you."

  My uncles opposed this plan, but Uncle Jack declared that he could notsleep if he went back; so the others gave in and we stayed, taking twohours turns, and the night passed slowly by.

  Every now and then Piter had an uneasy fit, bursting out into atremendous series of barks and howls, but there seemed to be no reasonfor the outcry.

  He was worst during the watch kept by Uncle Jack and me after we had hada good sleep, and there was something very pathetic in the way the poordog looked at us, as much as to say, "I wish I could speak and put youon your guard."

  But the night passed without any trouble; the men came in to their work,and with the darkness the fear seemed to have passed away. For there inthe warm sunshine the water of the dam was dancing and sparkling, thegreat wheel went round, and inside the works the grindstones werewhizzing and the steel being ground was screeching. Bellows puffed, andfires roared, and there was the _clink clank_ of hammers soundingmusically upon the anvils, as the men forged blades out of the improvedsteel my uncles were trying to perfect.

  Business was increasing, and matters went so smoothly during the nextfortnight that our troubles seemed to be at an end. In one week sixfresh men were engaged, and after the sluggish times in London, wherefor a couple of years past business had been gradually dying off,everything seemed to be most encouraging.

  Some of the men engaged were queer characters. One was a great swarthygiant with hardly any face visible for black hair, and to look at heseemed fit for a bandit, but to talk to he was one of the most gentleand amiable of men. He was a smith, and when he was at the anvil heused almost to startle me, he handled a heavy hammer so violently.

  I often stood at the door watching him seize a piece of steel with thetongs, whisk it out of the forge with a flourish that sent the white-hotscintillations flying through the place, bang it down on the anvil, andthen beat it savagely into the required shape.

  Then he would thrust it into the fire again, begin blowing the bellowswith one hand and stroke a kitten that he kept at the works with hisunoccupied hand, talking to it all the time in a little squeaking voicelike a boy's.

  He was very fond of swinging the sparkling and sputtering steel about myhead whenever I went in, but he was always civil, and the less I heededhis queer ways the more civil he became.

  There was a grinder, too, taken on at the same time, a shortround-looking man, with plump cheeks, and small eyes which were oftenmere slits in his face. He had a little soft nose, too, that lookedlike a plump thumb, and moved up and down and to right and left when hewas intent upon his work. He was the best-tempered man in the works,and seemed to me as if he was always laughing and showing his two rowsof firm white teeth.

  I somehow quite struck up an acquaintance with these two men, for whilethe others looked askant at me and treated me as if I were my uncle'sspy, sent into the works to see how the men kept on, Pannell the smithand Gentles the grinder were always ready to be civil.

  My friendliness with Pannell began one morning when I had caught a mouseup in the office overlooking the dam, where I spent most of my timemaking drawings and models with Uncle Bob.

  This mouse I took down as a _bonne bouche_ for Pannell's kitten, and assoon as he saw the little creature seize it and begin to spit and swear,he rested upon his hammer handle and stopped to watch it.

  Next time I went into the smithy he did not flourish the white-hot steelround my head, but gave it a flourish in another direction, banged itdown upon the anvil, and in a very short time had turned it into theblade of a small hand-bill.

  "You couldn't do that," he said smiling, as he cooled the piece of steeland threw it down on the floor before taking out another.

  "Not like that," I said. "I could do it roughly."

  "Yah! Not you," he said. "Try."

  I was only too eager, and seizing the pincers I took out one of theglowing pieces of steel lying ready, laid it upon the anvil and beat itinto shape, forming a rough imitation of the work I had been watching,but with twice as many strokes, taking twice as long, and producing worknot half so good.

  When I had done he picked up the implement, turned it over and over,looked at me, threw it down, and then went and stroked his kitten,staring straight before him.

  "Why, I couldn't ha' done a bit o' forging like that when I'd been at itfower year," he said in his high-pitched voice.

  "But my uncles have often shown me how," I said.

  "What! Can they forge?" he said, staring very hard at me.

  "Oh, yes, as well as you can!"

  He blew hard at the kitten and then shook his head in a dissatisfiedway, after which it seemed as if I had offended him, for he seized hishammer and pincers and began working away very hard, finishing a coupleof the steel bill-hooks before he spoke again.

  "Which on 'em 'vented this here contrapshion?" he said, pointing to aniron bar, by touching which he could direct a blast of air into his firewithout having the need of a man or boy to blow.

  "Uncle John," I said.

  "What! Him wi' the biggest head?"

  I nodded.

  "Yes; he said that with the water-wheel going it was easy to contrive away to blow the fires."

  "Humph! Can he forge a bill-hook or a scythe blade?"

  "Oh, yes!"

  "Who's 'venting the noo steel?"

  "Oh, they are all helping! It was Uncle Richard who first started it."

  "Oh, Uncle Richard, was
it?" he said thoughtfully. "Well, it won'tniver do."

  "Why?"

  "Snap a two, and never bear no edge."

  "Who says so?"

  "Traade," he cried. "Steel was good enough as it weer."

  Just then, as luck had it, Uncle Jack came into the smithy, and stoodand watched the man as he scowled heavily and flourished out the hotsteel as if he resented being watched.

  "You are not forging those hand-bills according to pattern, my man,"said Uncle Jack, as he saw one finished, Pannell beating the steel withsavage vehemence, and seeming as if he wished it were Uncle Jack's head.

  "That's way to forge a hand-bill," said the man sourly.

  "Your way," said Uncle Jack quietly. "Not mine. I gave you a pattern.These are being made of a new steel."

  "Good for nought," said the man; but Uncle Jack paid no heed, assumingnot to have heard the remark.

  "And I want them to look different to other people's."

  "Do it yoursen then," said the great fellow savagely; and he threw downthe hammer and pincers.

  "Yes, perhaps I had better," said Uncle Jack, rolling up his whiteshirt-sleeves, after taking off his coat and throwing it to me.

  I saw Pannell glower at the pure white skin that covered great musclesas big and hard as his own, while, after unhooking a leather apron fromwhere it hung, the lever was touched, the fire roared, and at last UncleJack brought out a piece of white-hot steel, banged it on the anvil, andrapidly beat it into shape.

  Every stroke had its object, and not one unnecessary blow fell, while ina short time he held in the water, which hissed angrily, a hand-billthat was beautifully made, and possessed a graceful curve and hook thatthe others wanted.

  "There," said Uncle Jack. "That's how I want them made."

  The man's face was set in a savage vindictive look, full of jealousannoyance, at seeing a well-dressed gentleman strip and use the smith'shammer and pincers better than he could have used them himself.

  "Make me one now after that pattern," said Uncle Jack.

  It seemed to me that the giant was going to tear off his leather apronfuriously and stride out of the place; but just then Uncle Jackstretched out his great strong hand and lifted up Pannell's kitten,which had sprung upon the forge and was about to set its little paws onthe hot cinders.

  "Poor pussy!" he said, standing it in one hand and stroking it with theother. "You mustn't burn those little paws and singe that coat. Isthis the one that had the mouse, Cob?"

  Just as I answered, "Yes," I saw the great smith change his aspect, pickup the still hot hand-bill that Uncle Jack had forged, stare hard at iton both sides, and then, throwing it down, he seized the pincers in onehand, the forge shovel in the other, turned on the blast and made thefire glow, and at last whisked out a piece of white-hot steel.

  This he in turn banged down on the anvil--_stithy_ he called it--andbeat into shape.

  It was not done so skilfully as Uncle Jack had forged his, but the workwas good and quick, and when he had done, the man cooled it and held itout with all the rough independence of the north-countryman.

  "Suppose that may do, mester," he said, and he stared at where UncleJack still stroked the kitten, which made a platform of his broad palm,and purred and rubbed itself against his chest.

  "Capitally!" said Uncle Jack, setting down the kitten gently. "Yes; Iwouldn't wish to see better work."

  "Aw raight!" said Pannell; and he went on with his work, while UncleJack and I walked across the yard to the office.

  "We shall get all right with the men by degrees, Cob," he said. "Thatfellow was going to be nasty, but he smoothed himself down. You see nowthe use of a master being able to show his men how to handle theirtools."

  "Yes," I said, laughing; "but that was not all. Pannell would have goneif it had not been for one thing."

  "What was that?" he said.

  "You began petting his kitten, and that made him friends."

  I often used to go into the smithy when Pannell was at work after that,and now and then handled his tools, and he showed me how to use themmore skilfully, so that we were pretty good friends, and he nevertreated me as if I were a spy.

  The greater part of the other men did, and no matter how civil I wasthey showed their dislike by having accidents as they called them, andthese accidents always happened when I was standing by and at no othertime.

  For instance a lot of water would be splashed, so that some fell uponme; a jet of sparks from a grindstone would flash out in my face as Iwent past; the band of a stone would be loosened, so that it flappedagainst me and knocked off my cap. Then pieces of iron fell, or werethrown, no one knew which, though they knew where, for the place wasgenerally on or close by my unfortunate body.

  I was in the habit of frequently going to look down in the wheel chamberor pit, and one day, as I stepped on to the threshold, my feet glidedfrom under me, and, but for my activity in catching at and hanging bythe iron bar that crossed the way I should have plunged headlong in.

  There seemed to be no reason for such a slip, but the men laughedbrutally, and when I looked I found that the sill had been well smearedwith fat.

  There was the one man in the grinders' shop, though, whom I havementioned, and who never seemed to side with his fellow workers, butlooked half pityingly at me whenever I seemed to be in trouble.

  I went into the grinding-shop one morning, where all was noise and din,the wheels spinning and the steel shrieking as it was being ground, whenall at once a quantity of water such as might have been thrown from apint pot came all over me.

  I turned round sharply, but every one was at work except the stoutgrinder, who, with a look of disgust on his face, stood wiping his neckwith a blue cotton handkerchief, and then one cheek.

  "Any on it come on you, mester?" he said.

  "Any come on me!" I cried indignantly--"look."

  "It be a shaam--a reg'lar shaam," he said slowly; "and I'd like to knowwho throwed that watter. Here, let me."

  He came from his bench, or horse as the grinders call their seat, andkindly enough brushed the water away from my jacket with hishandkerchief.

  "Don't tak' no notice of it," he said. "They're nobbut a set o' fullishboys as plays they tricks, and if you tell on 'em they'll give it to youworse."

  I took his advice, and said nothing then, but naturally enough, spoke tomy uncles about it when we were alone at night.

  "Never mind," said Uncle Dick. "I daresay we shall get the fellows tounderstand in time that we are their friends and not their enemies."

  "Yes," said Uncle Jack; "they are better. I dare say it will all comeright in time."

  It was soon after this that I went into the grinding-shop one day whilethe men were at dinner, and going to the door that opened into the wheelchamber, which always had a fascination for me, I stood gazing down intoits depths and listening to the splashing water.

  "Iver try to ketch any o' them long eels, Mester Jacob?" said a familiarvoice; and, starting and looking back, I saw that Gentles, the fatlittle grinder, was sitting down close to his wet grindstone eating hisdinner, and cutting it with a newly ground knife blade forged out of ournew steel.

  "Eels, Gentles!" I said. "I didn't know there were any there."

  "Oh, but there are," he said; "straange big 'uns. You set a line with abig bait on, and you'll soon hev one."

  "What, down there by the wheel?"

  "Ay, or oop i' the dam. Plenty o' eels, lad, theer."

  "I'll have a try," I said eagerly, for the idea of catching one or twoof the creatures was attractive.

  From that I got talking to the man about his work, and he promised tolet me have a few turns at grinding.

  "On'y, what am I to say if thee coots theesen?" he cried with a chuckle.

  "Oh, but you'll show me how to do it without!" I said laughing.

  "Nay, but what's good o' thee wanting to grind? Want to tak' work outo' poor men's hands?"

  "Nonsense!" I cried angrily. "Why, Gentles, you
know better than that.All I want is to understand thoroughly how it is done, so that I cantalk to the men about their work, and show them if it isn't right."

  "Oh!" he said in a curious tone of voice. "Well, you coom any time whenwatter-wheel's going, and I'll show thee all that I know. 'Tain't much.Keeps men fro' starving."

  "Why, Gentles," I cried; "you drew three pounds five last week, and Isaw you paid."

  "Three pun' five! Did I?" he said. "Ah, but that was a partic'lar goodweek. I've got a missus and a lot o' bairns to keep, and times is verybad, mester."

  "I'm sorry for it," I said; and I went away and had a look in the booksas soon as I reached the office, to find that Master Gentles never drewless than three pounds a-week; but I did not remind him of it, andduring the next few days he very civilly showed me how his work wasdone--that is, the knack of holding and turning the blades, so that Irapidly acquired the way, and was too busy to notice the peculiar looksI received from the other men.

  Of course I know how that I was a mere bungler, and clumsy, and slow inthe extreme; but at the time I felt as if I must be very clever, andthere was something very satisfactory in seeing a blackened hammeredblade fresh from the forge turn bright and clean in my hands, while theedge grew sharp and even.

  It was playing with edged tools with a vengeance, but I did notunderstand it then.