That was possibly true, but who among them knew anything of the farmers? To talk to Captain Swing they would have to discover names and places to find them.
One of the bolder men raised a hand and made the point that they were townspeople - they had never in their lives spoken to a farm labourer.
"I have. My father owns farms. So does my bloody husband!"
"Who are they?"
The thought of working with yokels from farms emboldened the men present to protest just a little bit, to let her know that they were not entirely pleased.
She realised that she must carry them with her, that she could not simply give them orders this time. She noted the faces of those who had dared shout their mouths off against her - they would regret their temerity, one day.
"Bloody Jerry Tonks! That's my legally wedded husband, until I get close enough to him one day without him recognising my face and getting away!"
They knew that Tonks had a mine up in the hills, with a big house and a farm. Some of them had heard that he had a wife who had run away, leaving him with a child in the nursery. One or two knew that the wife had been the daughter of a landowner on the moors.
"I know who to talk to. I can find out who is leading the Blackfaces up in the hills."
She had to explain that it was the habit of the agricultural workers to smear soot on their faces so that they should not be recognised when out at night.
"Goin' to burn out Tonks' place, are you, Nellie?"
"No. Too far from anywhere else. Better to choose one of the richer places down on the lowlands. They've got more money - when they shout the Militia will listen. Some little hill farmer gets burned out and they won't worry, but if one of their own fat friends is hurt, then they'll come running."
It made sense; the rich looked after each other and cared nothing for the poor.
"What about Reform, Nellie? Do we support that?"
"None of our business! We have no vote now; we won't have a vote after this so-called Reform comes into existence, if it ever does. Parliament is for the rich, not for us. Let them have their meetings and stir up trouble if they can - if the Militia have got to be at one of their affairs then we can be busy elsewhere."
They were not wholly convinced. She wanted revolution and blood, and they suspected that she sought nothing else. She did not want to create a new world, or to make the ordinary folk better off, she simply wanted the destruction of all that currently existed and cared not what might happen afterwards.
The meeting ended and the men drifted out of the back room of the beerhouse, slipping away in twos and threes, not as an obvious group but not skulking individually. The last three out exchanged grins as Nellie called Stanley, who had asked about Reform, to speak with her.
"Better 'ope 'e ate well tonight, lads - 'e's goin' t' need all of 'is bloody strength!"
They laughed and wandered across the road and into the Black Star, a slightly better quality pub, for a quiet pint.
They sat at a table at the back of the room, less than half full for being a weekday night when few of the local men still had pennies in their pockets. Eddie Peterson bought three pints of mild ale and they sat at an empty table.
"Well, Sam, what dost tha' think to 'er bright bloody idea?"
"Not much, Eddie, not much at all!"
"What of thee, our Jess?"
Eddie's younger brother thought very little of the proposal - he wanted to see his fellows in the mill with enough money in their wage-packets on Saturday to pay the rent and to buy seven days' worth of food for their wives and children, and possibly have a few pence over for a newspaper and tobacco and a pint as well. He did not see that burning out farmers would help that aim at all. As for revolution - who had the guns, who rode the horses? Not his people, that was for sure; they might rise up, but the redcoats would crush them down in days.
Jess had enjoyed his few years of schooling and still made use of the books at the Sunday School. The others listened to him, knowing that he cared for the local people and suspecting that many of the Reds were no less willing than the bosses to treat the ordinary folk with complete contempt.
"So what dost thou reckon us should do, Jess?"
"Get that mad bitch off us backs, first thing, Eddie!"
"And just 'ow do us go about that, young Jess?" Sam was deeply unimpressed by the proposal - the first man to speak up against her would be arguing with her butcher's cleaver inside the minute.
"Only one way, ain't there?"
Jess did not want to say the words himself, did not want the name of informer.
"Man what did that would worry the rest of 'is life, Jess! That man would never know that 'e 'ad not been seen speakin' to the masters or that one of they might not let 'is name slip careless like."
"That man would 'ave to go a long way hence, brother. A ticket to America and fifty pound in 'is pocket, too. Thou and thy Mary might make a new life, brother, like what thee 'ast talked of more nor once."
They said no more that night, drank up and walked slowly home.
Sam said his good nights and entered the lodging house where he had an attic of his own. Eddie and Jess walked inside their two up, two down terrace where Jess slept on a pallet under the kitchen table. Eddie could hear his eldest snuffling in his sleep - the boy's chest was weak and grew no better each winter. With two men's income in the house they could feed themselves and pay for a bit of coal in the cold weather, but they could save almost nothing. An accident at the mill, a fortnight sick, and they would face hunger, and they were better off than most.
"Wouldst thou come too, Jess?"
"I should work for the people 'ereabouts, brother."
"There ain't bugger-all thee and I can do, not in truth, Jess."
He was right, Jess admitted.
"Talk it over in the morning. Good night, Eddie. Sleep well, brother."
They rose at half past four as usual and ate their bread and drank a cup of hot tea before trudging the wet streets to the mill, signing in at five to six so that they could be at their loom to take over when the night-shift man finished on the dot of six. They handed over silently and started their twelve hours of unbroken concentration, watching the machine and the cloth and the bobbins of thread, making sure that the loom did not stop and that the quality remained as nearly perfect as was possible. If the quality dropped they would be fined; if the loom stopped for any reason other than a mechanical failure there would be a larger fine; no excuse would be accepted.
Twelve hours later the night-shift men appeared at their sides and they stepped away and walked stiffly to the desk to sign out. They made their way slowly to the necessaries, released their aching bladders; they were allowed one break during the day, the charge-hand taking over for five minutes. Kidney disease was a commonplace among the older men.
"Well, Jess?"
"No choice, Eddie. I been thinkin' all day and there ain't nowt else to be done. She's goin' to kill every last one of us with 'er bloody revolutions. Suppose she 'as 'er way then the bosses will soon enow see what's goin' on. You think they ain't goin' to do nothin'?"
Eddie stopped a moment, working out what would come next.
"They'll just send another regiment, or two, or 'owever many they needs. Time two weeks 'ave passed they'll 'ave 'alf the bloody army swarmin' over us, sabres out and muskets barkin'. There ain't no other way. They won't just let us go on with burnin' 'em out. They'll kill every last one of us rather than give up."
"So what do us do, brother?"
They walked the mile home in silence, sat to table and ate their stew, still with nothing to say.
Sam came to talk for an hour, as he did most nights, found them poor company, guessed why and said nothing.
"So, Eddie, Sam - who do we go to?"
That was a problem; there was no police force yet, though one was occasionally talked about. A complaint could be laid before the magistrates, but that was a public process. They could not be seen knocking on the office door
to speak to the boss.
"Tonks, it was, the mad bitch did name. I reckon as 'ow we could go out to 'is place on Saturday evening, out to the big place what Star 'ad before 'im. She ain't goin' to be watching there, is she? Got to keep out of sight, so she said."
Nellie herself was beset by no doubts. She knew exactly what she must do and how she was to go about it. She took five pounds out of the union funds - quite honestly in her opinion, for the men paid their sixpence a week so that they could be protected and could work together to better themselves. She knew that the only way they could ever make themselves safe from the bosses was to kill them and she was working to that specific end. She took the stage a few miles and then bought a ride on the carrier's cart as he started out on his five-day run up the hills and across the high moors, getting off four miles away from the Parkin house and walking the rest of the way by the footpaths, out of sight of the nosey busybodies of the village. The labourers' wives had nothing better to do than poke their heads out of their doors to stare at every cart that passed by and the carrier was a figure of local importance to people who had never ventured more than an hour's walk from their homes in their whole lives.
She knew the names of a few local men who had been mentioned in her hearing by her father for being 'big-mouthed' and 'needing to be watched'. There was a good chance that they, or some of them, would be out with the Blackfaces or would at least be able to give her a useful name. Four of the half-sovereigns in her pocket were for the purpose of encouraging them to talk to her.
As she had expected, the labourers recognised her and were frightened to be seen in her company, were willing to give her names to get her out of sight. She spoke to four of them, knocking on their back doors after dark, and was given the same name by three, which was good enough for her.
She walked two miles down the road under the moon and slept a few hours in a sheep fold before picking up the carrier as he set out in the morning on his journey northwards. Half a day took her to a small farmhouse in sight of a large new rich man's residence.
"Who's that over there?"
"Sir Matthew Star, the ship-building man. And 'is good lady wife. Not too bad a bloke, 'e is, got a 'Good Morning' for any man, but 'er! More like to call a man down for darin' to raise 'is eyes to 'er!"
She got down from the cart, paying over the shilling she had agreed for the ride and silence. The carrier did not know who she was and did not care, but an extra shilling always came in handy; he had not seen her and would not remember her.
She walked openly into the farm yard, a caller with legitimate business, unusual in this backwater but not inherently suspicious. Had she tried to sneak she would have stood out and probably found the dogs put on her.
There was a man in his thirties working in the yard, mending hurdles, one of the many jobs of a sheep farm that needed be kept up with every week. He met the description she had been given.
"Johnny Moonlight?"
"So what if I be? Who are you?"
"Nellie Parkin, who some call Lady Ludd."
"Come inside, out of sight!"
He had heard the name and his first reaction was not to drive her away. She had the right man.
An hour of talking and they had an agreement. Both believed that they were losing, that they could not force the rich to stop their policy of starving the poor using their present tactics.
"They are not hurting enough, Johnny. They won't do a thing for decency's sake, so they must be made to change their ways - and that means killing the bastards!"
"They kill us with their ropes and horses and muskets, and them they don't they send to a living grave in Botany Bay. They got the guns so we can't fight them open-like. What do you reckon to do?"
"Burn them out at night. Don't matter how many guns they've got if they can't see to aim them. A torch in the thatch of their barns and their money goes up in smoke. That's the only way they will ever learn. You bring the horse-soldiers out of town and set the Militia to marching up to join them and we'll see to the cotton in the loading bays the next night. A week and the whole of Lancashire can be covered in smoke!"
They shook on the pact and she left the yard to walk the ten miles downhill to the stage road. She ate her first meal in two days at the inn on the road while waiting for the coach to come; she had barely noticed being hungry. She did not realise she was being watched, her face noticed and put away into the publican's memory. Women did not travel on their own out in the sticks; it was not like town where a person could be anonymous in the crowds.
"Talks wrong, don't she, missus!"
The innkeeper's wife peered at her from behind the bar.
"Dresses like she was one of us. Talks like one of they. Where she come from?"
"Over the hill."
"Nothing up there for miles. Not till you gets to Star's place. And 'is farm..."
They would speak no name aloud, but both knew who the tenant of the Home Farm was.
"Talk to old Sir Richard's keeper when 'e comes in for a pint, so I would, husband."
He did.
Jess and Eddie waited till nightfall on Saturday before walking the mile to the outskirts of town and Mr Tonks' big house. They made their way to the back door and knocked quietly.
A delay and lights appeared in the back kitchen and then the door was pushed open by a manservant.
"There's a man with a shotgun watching from the side. If you have any ideas, forget them!"
"We just needs to talk to Mr Tonks. Nothing else. Just the two of us, there's no gang hiding behind us!"
"Open your coats."
They showed their shirts underneath - no knives or pistols hidden.
"Come inside. Wait here."
The manservant left by way of the kitchen door, closing it behind him. Ten silent minutes and the door opened again to disclose the limping figure of Tonks, casually dressed, open-necked and in shirt-sleeves, a man disturbed from an evening at his fireside. A faint giggle in the background suggested that he had in fact been busy.
"Well? What have you got to say to me?"
There could be very few reasons for unknown working-men to disturb him at home.
"General Ludd, sir. We're both on 'er committee."
Tonks had heard whispers that the General was female on this occasion, told them to sit down, called his man to bring tea.
"Well?"
"She don't care for us folks no more than you do, Mr Tonks. All she wants is revolution, killing off the rich and burning them out. We're bad enough off now - we'll be bloody starving if we ain't got any jobs at all."
Tonks nodded, let them talk - they must need to justify themselves, persuade themselves that they were not simply Judases.
"What's her name?"
"Nellie Parkin, sir. She says she knows you, that's why we chose your door to knock on."
Tonks nodded; nothing surprised him about that lady.
"She's bloody crazy, sir. Carries a knife and we seen 'er to use it."
Tonks nodded again - they were telling him nothing that he could not accept.
"She's planning to get together with the Swing people, sir, town and country together."
That could be a disaster, Tonks immediately realised. It had to be stopped. He had been intending to thank them for the name and send them away with a sovereign apiece, changed his mind rapidly.
"What's your price for names and places, for setting them all up to be taken?"
"Tickets to America for three men, my wife and four children. A few quid in our pockets to tide us by up till we can find work there."
"Done. I can do a bit better than that for you. I can send you to a place where you'll be found work and a house straight away. It won't be mill work - there ain't many mills in America and we don't own any there."
"Us can both turn our 'ands to most jobs of work, sir. A chance to live decent and we'll take it, sir."
Tonks called for pencil and paper, took down all they could tell him; the places where they met, the
names and addresses of the committee members and the most likely places to pick up Nellie Parkin.
"She don't stay in the one house all the time, sir. Moves about, she does."
Tonks made his way to the Star's estate next morning; he had little fear that he would disturb George in his church-going.
"Ludd and Swing? Together? That must be stopped before it starts, Mr Tonks."
"So I believe, sir. We must protect our informants, sir. Let it be inferred that any man who comes knocking on our doors will be well looked after."
George could accept that.
"What do they want?"
"America and a new life, Mr Star. You tell me that Mr Henry Star has a number of business enterprises, sir, and could probably find jobs for three mill hands. Not in mills, but they will be good workers who will be able to turn their hands to another trade."
"Henry has recently opened a gunpowder mill in the state of Tennessee, and needs men who are used to discipline to work there. He writes that there has already been an explosion due to the slapdash ways of the frontiersmen. The work, because of its nature, pays a better than ordinary wage and I do not doubt that he would be willing to find a house as well for these men."
"I will tell them so, sir. We should remove them from Burnley as soon as we possibly may, sir. If we put them aboard the next ship out of Liverpool, then we can take up their committee and hopefully General Ludd herself. We need to pass word around the farming areas, sir, that they are to expect an upsurge in violence and arsons."
"That can be done, Mr Tonks. The word as well to keep an eye open for a female agitator. Such a one will stand out in country areas."
Enquiry next day found a merchantman with cabins unsold and sailing on Tuesday; the berths were in the Second Class, unfortunately, and it was a fast steam and sail ship, but George Star authorised the unwonted luxury in the interest of getting them out of the country. The three men were hustled into Liverpool on Monday evening, their bags in their hands, Eddie's wife and four children protesting quietly and clinging to each other for not knowing what was happening.
Virtue’s Reward (A Poor Man at the Gate Series, Book 11) Page 17
