RED-HAIRED YOUTH. Chapel can though!
["The Shaver" laughs; there are murmurs from the crowd.]
THOMAS. [Fixing his eyes on "The Shaver."] Ah! ye're Going the roat to tamnation. An' so I say to all of you. If ye co against Chapel I will not pe with you, nor will any other Got-fearing man.
[He steps down from the platform. JAGO makes his way towards it. There are cries of "Don't let 'im go up!"]
JAGO. Don't let him go up? That's free speech, that is. [He goes up.] I ain't got much to say to you. Look at the matter plain; ye've come the road this far, and now you want to chuck the journey. We've all been in one boat; and now you want to pull in two. We engineers have stood by you; ye 're ready now, are ye, to give us the go-by? If we'd aknown that before, we'd not a-started out with you so early one bright morning! That's all I've got to say. Old man Thomas a'n't got his Bible lesson right. If you give up to London, or to Harness, now, it's givin' us the chuck—to save your skins—you won't get over that, my boys; it's a dirty thing to do.
[He gets down; during his little speech, which is ironically spoken, there is a restless discomfort in the crowd. ROUS, stepping forward, jumps on the platform. He has an air of fierce distraction. Sullen murmurs of disapproval from the crowd.]
ROUS. [Speaking with great excitement.] I'm no blanky orator, mates, but wot I say is drove from me. What I say is yuman nature. Can a man set an' see 'is mother starve? Can 'e now?
ROBERTS. [Starting forward.] Rous!
ROUS. [Staring at him fiercely.] Sim 'Arness said fair! I've changed my mind!
ROBERTS. Ah! Turned your coat you mean!
[The crowd manifests a great surprise.]
LEWIS. [Apostrophising Rous.] Hallo! What's turned him round?
ROUS. [Speaking with intense excitement.] 'E said fair. "Stand by us," 'e said, "and we'll stand by you." That's where we've been makin' our mistake this long time past; and who's to blame fort? [He points at ROBERTS] That man there! "No," 'e said, "fight the robbers," 'e said, "squeeze the breath out o' them!" But it's not the breath out o' them that's being squeezed; it's the breath out of us and ours, and that's the book of truth. I'm no orator, mates, it's the flesh and blood in me that's speakin', it's the heart o' me. [With a menacing, yet half-ashamed movement towards ROBERTS.] He'll speak to you again, mark my words, but don't ye listen. [The crowd groans.] It's hell fire that's on that man's tongue. [ROBERTS is seen laughing.] Sim 'Arness is right. What are we without the Union—handful o' parched leaves—a puff o' smoke. I'm no orator, but I say: Chuck it up! Chuck it up! Sooner than go on starving the women and the children.
[The murmurs of acquiescence almost drown the murmurs of dissent.]
EVANS. What's turned you to blacklegging?
ROUS. [With a furious look.] Sim 'Arness knows what he's talking about. Give us power to come to terms with London; I'm no orator, but I say—have done wi' this black misery!
[He gives his muter a twist, jerks his head back, and jumps off the platform. The crowd applauds and surges forward. Amid cries of "That's enough!" "Up Union!" "Up Harness!" ROBERTS quietly ascends the platform. There is a moment of silence.]
BLACKSMITH. We don't want to hear you. Shut it!
HENRY Rous. Get down!
[Amid such cries they surge towards the platform.]
EVANS. [Fiercely.] Let 'im speak! Roberts! Roberts!
BULGIN. [Muttering.] He'd better look out that I don't crack his skull.
[ROBERTS faces the crowd, probing them with his eyes till they gradually become silent. He begins speaking. One of the bargemen rises and stands.]
ROBERTS. You don't want to hear me, then? You'll listen to Rous and to that old man, but not to me. You'll listen to Sim Harness of the Union that's treated you so fair; maybe you'll listen to those men from London? Ah! You groan! What for? You love their feet on your necks, don't you? [Then as BULGIN elbows his way towards the platform, with calm bathos.] You'd like to break my jaw, John Bulgin. Let me speak, then do your smashing, if it gives you pleasure. [BULGIN Stands motionless and sullen.] Am I a liar, a coward, a traitor? If only I were, ye'd listen to me, I'm sure. [The murmurings cease, and there is now dead silence.] Is there a man of you here that has less to gain by striking? Is there a man of you that had more to lose? Is there a man of you that has given up eight hundred pounds since this trouble here began? Come now, is there? How much has Thomas given up—ten pounds or five, or what? You listened to him, and what had he to say? "None can pretend," he said, "that I'm not a believer in principle—[with biting irony]—but when Nature says: 'No further, 't es going agenst Nature.'" I tell you if a man cannot say to Nature: "Budge me from this if ye can!"— [with a sort of exaltation] his principles are but his belly. "Oh, but," Thomas says, "a man can be pure and honest, just and merciful, and take off his hat to Nature!" I tell you Nature's neither pure nor honest, just nor merciful. You chaps that live over the hill, an' go home dead beat in the dark on a snowy night—don't ye fight your way every inch of it? Do ye go lyin' down an' trustin' to the tender mercies of this merciful Nature? Try it and you'll soon know with what ye've got to deal. 'T es only by that—[he strikes a blow with his clenched fist]—in Nature's face that a man can be a man. "Give in," says Thomas, "go down on your knees; throw up your foolish fight, an' perhaps," he said, "perhaps your enemy will chuck you down a crust."
JAGO. Never!
EVANS. Curse them!
THOMAS. I nefer said that.
ROBERTS. [Bitingly.] If ye did not say it, man, ye meant it. An' what did ye say about Chapel? "Chapel's against it," ye said. "She's against it!" Well, if Chapel and Nature go hand in hand, it's the first I've ever heard of it. That young man there— [pointing to ROUS]—said I 'ad 'ell fire on my tongue. If I had I would use it all to scorch and wither this talking of surrender. Surrendering 's the work of cowards and traitors.
HENRY ROUS. [As GEORGE ROUS moves forward.] Go for him, George— don't stand his lip!
ROBERTS. [Flinging out his finger.] Stop there, George Rous, it's no time this to settle personal matters. [ROUS stops.] But there was one other spoke to you—Mr. Simon Harness. We have not much to thank Mr. Harness and the Union for. They said to us "Desert your mates, or we'll desert you." An' they did desert us.
EVANS. They did.
ROBERTS. Mr. Simon Harness is a clever man, but he has come too late. [With intense conviction.] For all that Mr. Simon Harness says, for all that Thomas, Rous, for all that any man present here can say—We've won the fight!
[The crowd sags nearer, looking eagerly up.]
[With withering scorn.] You've felt the pinch o't in your bellies. You've forgotten what that fight 'as been; many times I have told you; I will tell you now this once again. The fight o' the country's body and blood against a blood-sucker. The fight of those that spend themselves with every blow they strike and every breath they draw, against a thing that fattens on them, and grows and grows by the law of merciful Nature. That thing is Capital! A thing that buys the sweat o' men's brows, and the tortures o' their brains, at its own price. Don't I know that? Wasn't the work o' my brains bought for seven hundred pounds, and hasn't one hundred thousand pounds been gained them by that seven hundred without the stirring of a finger. It is a thing that will take as much and give you as little as it can. That's Capital! A thing that will say—"I'm very sorry for you, poor fellows—you have a cruel time of it, I know," but will not give one sixpence of its dividends to help you have a better time. That's Capital! Tell me, for all their talk, is there one of them that will consent to another penny on the Income Tax to help the poor? That's Capital! A white-faced, stony-hearted monster! Ye have got it on its knees; are ye to give up at the last minute to save your miserable bodies pain? When I went this morning to those old men from London, I looked into their very 'earts. One of them was sitting there—Mr. Scantlebury, a mass of flesh nourished on us: sittin' there for all the world like the shareholders in this Company, that sit not moving tongue nor finger, takin' dividends a great du
mb ox that can only be roused when its food is threatened. I looked into his eyes and I saw he was afraid—afraid for himself and his dividends; afraid for his fees, afraid of the very shareholders he stands for; and all but one of them's afraid—like children that get into a wood at night, and start at every rustle of the leaves. I ask you, men—[he pauses, holding out his hand till there is utter silence]—give me a free hand to tell them: "Go you back to London. The men have nothing for you!" [A murmuring.] Give me that, an' I swear to you, within a week you shall have from London all you want.
EVANS, JAGO, and OTHERS. A free hand! Give him a free hand! Bravo —bravo!
ROBERTS. 'T is not for this little moment of time we're fighting [the murmuring dies], not for ourselves, our own little bodies, and their wants, 't is for all those that come after throughout all time. [With intense sadness.] Oh! men—for the love o' them, don't roll up another stone upon their heads, don't help to blacken the sky, an' let the bitter sea in over them. They're welcome to the worst that can happen to me, to the worst that can happen to us all, aren't they—aren't they? If we can shake [passionately] that white-faced monster with the bloody lips, that has sucked the life out of ourselves, our wives, and children, since the world began. [Dropping the note of passion but with the utmost weight and intensity.] If we have not the hearts of men to stand against it breast to breast, and eye to eye, and force it backward till it cry for mercy, it will go on sucking life; and we shall stay forever what we are [in almost a whisper], less than the very dogs.
[An utter stillness, and ROBERTS stands rocking his body slightly, with his eyes burning the faces of the crowd.]
EVANS and JAGO. [Suddenly.] Roberts! [The shout is taken up.]
[There is a slight movement in the crowd, and MADGE passing below the towing-path, stops by the platform, looking up at ROBERTS. A sudden doubting silence.]
ROBERTS. "Nature," says that old man, "give in to Nature." I tell you, strike your blow in Nature's face—an' let it do its worst!
[He catches sight of MADGE, his brows contract, he looks away.]
MADGE. [In a low voice-close to the platform.] Your wife's dying!
[ROBERTS glares at her as if torn from some pinnacle of exaltation.]
ROBERTS. [Trying to stammer on.] I say to you—answer them—answer them—
[He is drowned by the murmur in the crowd.]
THOMAS. [Stepping forward.] Ton't you hear her, then?
ROBERTS. What is it? [A dead silence.]
THOMAS. Your wife, man!
[ROBERTS hesitates, then with a gesture, he leaps down, and goes away below the towing-path, the men making way for him. The standing bargeman opens and prepares to light a lantern. Daylight is fast failing.]
MADGE. He needn't have hurried! Annie Roberts is dead. [Then in the silence, passionately.] You pack of blinded hounds! How many more women are you going to let to die?
[The crowd shrinks back from her, and breaks up in groups, with a confused, uneasy movement. MADGE goes quickly away below the towing-path. There is a hush as they look after her.]
LEWIS. There's a spitfire, for ye!
BULGIN. [Growling.] I'll smash 'er jaw.
GREEN. If I'd a-been listened to, that poor woman—
THOMAS. It's a judgment on him for going against Chapel. I tolt him how 't would be!
EVANS. All the more reason for sticking by 'im. [A cheer.] Are you goin' to desert him now 'e 's down? Are you going to chuck him over, now 'e 's lost 'is wife?
[The crowd is murmuring and cheering all at once.]
ROUS. [Stepping in front of platform.] Lost his wife! Aye! Can't ye see? Look at home, look at your own wives! What's to save them? Ye'll have the same in all your houses before long!
LEWIS. Aye, aye!
HENRY ROUS. Right! George, right!
[There are murmurs of assent.]
ROUS. It's not us that's blind, it's Roberts. How long will ye put up with 'im!
HENRY, ROUS, BULGIN, DAVIES. Give 'im the chuck!
[The cry is taken up.]
EVANS. [Fiercely.] Kick a man that's down? Down?
HENRY ROUS. Stop his jaw there!
[EVANS throws up his arm at a threat from BULGIN. The bargeman, who has lighted the lantern, holds it high above his head.]
ROUS. [Springing on to the platform.] What brought him down then, but 'is own black obstinacy? Are ye goin' to follow a man that can't see better than that where he's goin'?
EVANS. He's lost 'is wife.
ROUS. An' who's fault's that but his own. 'Ave done with 'im, I say, before he's killed your own wives and mothers.
DAVIES. Down 'im!
HENRY ROUS. He's finished!
BROWN. We've had enough of 'im!
BLACKSMITH. Too much!
[The crowd takes up these cries, excepting only EVANS, JAGO, and GREEN, who is seen to argue mildly with the BLACKSMITH.]
ROUS. [Above the hubbub.] We'll make terms with the Union, lads.
[Cheers.]
EVANS. [Fiercely.] Ye blacklegs!
BULGIN. [Savagely-squaring up to him.] Who are ye callin' blacklegs, Rat?
[EVANS throws up his fists, parries the blow, and returns it. They fight. The bargemen are seen holding up the lantern and enjoying the sight. Old THOMAS steps forward and holds out his hands.]
THOMAS. Shame on your strife!
[The BLACKSMITH, BROWN, LEWIS, and the RED-HAIRED YOUTH pull EVANS and BULGIN apart. The stage is almost dark.]
The curtain falls.
ACT III
It is five o'clock. In the UNDERWOODS' drawing-room, which is artistically furnished, ENID is sitting on the sofa working at a baby's frock. EDGAR, by a little spindle-legged table in the centre of the room, is fingering a china-box. His eyes are fixed on the double-doors that lead into the dining-room.
EDGAR. [Putting down the china-box, and glancing at his watch.] Just on five, they're all in there waiting, except Frank. Where's he?
ENID. He's had to go down to Gasgoyne's about a contract. Will you want him?
EDGAR. He can't help us. This is a director's job. [Motioning towards a single door half hidden by a curtain.] Father in his room?
ENID. Yes.
EDGAR. I wish he'd stay there, Enid.
[ENID looks up at him. This is a beastly business, old girl?] [He takes up the little box again and turns it over and over.]
ENID. I went to the Roberts's this afternoon, Ted.
EDGAR. That wasn't very wise.
ENID. He's simply killing his wife.
EDGAR. We are you mean.
ENID. [Suddenly.] Roberts ought to give way!
EDGAR. There's a lot to be said on the men's side.
ENID. I don't feel half so sympathetic with them as I did before I went. They just set up class feeling against you. Poor Annie was looking dread fully bad—fire going out, and nothing fit for her to eat.
[EDGAR walks to and fro.]
But she would stand up for Roberts. When you see all this wretchedness going on and feel you can do nothing, you have to shut your eyes to the whole thing.
EDGAR. If you can.
ENID. When I went I was all on their side, but as soon as I got there I began to feel quite different at once. People talk about sympathy with the working classes, they don't know what it means to try and put it into practice. It seems hopeless.
EDGAR. Ah! well.
ENID. It's dreadful going on with the men in this state. I do hope the Dad will make concessions.
EDGAR. He won't. [Gloomily.] It's a sort of religion with him. Curse it! I know what's coming! He'll be voted down.
ENID. They wouldn't dare!
EDGAR. They will—they're in a funk.
ENID. [Indignantly.] He'd never stand it!
EDGAR. [With a shrug.] My dear girl, if you're beaten in a vote, you've got to stand it.
ENID. Oh! [She gets up in alarm.] But would he resign?
EDGAR. Of course! It goes to the roots of his beliefs.
ENID. But he's
so wrapped up in this company, Ted! There'd be nothing left for him! It'd be dreadful!
[EDGAR shrugs his shoulders.]
Oh, Ted, he's so old now! You mustn't let them!
EDGAR. [Hiding his feelings in an outburst.] My sympathies in this strike are all on the side of the men.
ENID. He's been Chairman for more than thirty years! He made the whole thing! And think of the bad times they've had; it's always been he who pulled them through. Oh, Ted, you must!
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