Through The Fray: A Tale Of The Luddite Riots

by G. A. Henty

  As Abijah Wolf had said, the croppers of the West Riding were a rough set. Their occupation consisted in shearing or cropping the wool on the face of cloths. They used a large pair of shears, which were so set that one blade went under the cloth while the other worked on its upper face, mowing the fibres and ends of the wool to a smooth even surface. The work was hard and required considerable skill, and the men earned about twenty-four shillings a week, a sum which, with bread and all other necessities of life at famine prices, barely sufficed for the support of their families. The introduction of power-looms threatened to abolish their calling. It was true that although these machines wove the cloth more evenly and smoothly than the hand-looms, croppers were still required to give the necessary smooth-

  ness of face; still the tendency had been to lower wages.

  The weavers were affected even more than the croppers, for strength and skill were not so needed to tend the power-looms as to work the hand-looms. Women and boys could do the work previously performed by men, and the tendency of wages was everywhere to fall. For years a deep spirit of discontent had been seething among the operatives in the cotton and woollen manufactures, andj there had been riots more or less serious in Derbyshire, Nottingham, Lancashire, and Yorkshire, which in those days were the headquarters of these trades. Factories had been burned, employers threatened and attacked, and the obnoxious machines smashed. It was the vain struggle of tne ignorant and badly paid people to keep down production and to keep up wages, to maintain manual labour against the power of the steam-engine. Hitherto factories had been rare, men working the frames in their own homes, and utilizing the labour of their wives and families, and the necessity of going miles away to work in the mills, where the looms were driven by steam, added much to the discontent.

  Having found his fishing appliances Ned hurried off to the school, where his chum Tompkins was already waiting him, and the two set out at once on their expedition. They had four miles to walk to reach the spot where they intended to fish.

  It was a quiet little stream with deep pools and many shadows, and had its source in the heart of the moorlands.

  Neither of them had ever tried it before, but they had heard it spoken of as one of the best streams for fish in that part. On reaching its banks the rods were put together, the hooks were baited with worms, and a deep pool being chosen they set to work.

  After fishing for some time without success they tried a pool higher up, and so mounted higher and higher up the stream, but ever with the same want of success.

  " How could they have said that this was a good place for fish ?" Tompkins said angrily at last. " Why, by this time it would have been hard luck if we had not caught a dozen between us where we usually fish close to the town, and after our long walk we have not had even a bite."

  " I fancy, Tompkins," Ned said, '* that we are a couple of fools. I know it is trout that they catch in this stream, and of course, now I think of it, trout are caught in clear water with a fly, not with a worm. Father said the other day he would take me out some Saturday and give me a lesson in fly-fishing. How he will laugh when I tell him we have wasted all our afternoon in trying to catch trout with worms!"

  " I don't see anything to laugh at," Tompkins grumbled. " Here we waste a whole half-holiday, and nothing to show for it, and have got six or seven miles at least to tramp back to school."

  "Well, we have had a nice walk," Ned said, "even if we are caught in the rain. However, we may as well put up our rods and start. I vote we try to make a straight

  cut home; it must be ever so much shorter to go in a straight line than to follow all the windings of this stream."

  They had long since left the low lands, where trees and bushes bordered the stream, and were in a lonely valley where the hills came down close to the little stream, which sparkled among the boulders at their feet. The slopes were covered with a crop of short wiry grass through which the gray stone projected here and there. Tiny rills of water made their way down the hillside to swell the stream, and the tinge of brown which showed up wherever these found a level sufficient to form a pool told that they had their source in the bogs on the moorland above. Tompkins looked round him rather discon-certedly.

  " I don't know," he said. " It's a beastly long way to walk round; but suppose we got lost in trying to make our way across the hills."

  " Well, just as you like," Ned said, " I am game to walk back the way we came or to try and make a straight cut, only mind don't you turn round and blame me afterwards. You take your choice; whichever you vote for I am ready to do."

  " My shoes are beginning to rub my heel," Tompkins said, " so I will take the shortest way and risk it. I don't see we can go far out of our way."

  "I don't see that we can," Ned replied. "Marsden lies to the east, so we have only to keep our backs to the sun; it won't be down for another two hours yet, and before that we ought to be in."

  By this time they had taken their rods to pieces, wound up their lines, and were ready to start. A few minutes' sharp climbing took them to the top of the slope. They were now upon the moor, which stretched away with slight undulations as far as they could see.

  " Now," Ned said, " we will make for that clump of rocks. They seem to be just in the line we ought to take, and by fixing our eyes upon them we shall go straight."

  This, however, was not as easy to do as Ned had fancied; the ground was in many places so soft and boggy that they were forced to make considerable detours. Nevertheless the rocks served as a beacon, and enabled them to keep the right direction; but although they made their way at the best of their speed it was an hour after starting before they approached the rock. When they were within fifty yards of it a figure suddenly rose. It was that of a boy some fifteen years of age.

  " Goa back," he shouted; "dang yer, what be'est a cooming here vor?"

  The two boys stopped astonished.

  " We are going to Marsden," Ned replied; " but what's that to you?"

  " Doan't ee moind wot it be to oi," the boy said; " oi tell ee ee cant goa no further; yoi've got ter go back."

  " We shan't go back," Ned said; " we have got as much right to go this way as you have. This is not your land; and if it is, we ain't hurting it." By this time they were at the foot of the pile of rocks, and the lad was standing some ten feet above them.

  " Oi tell ee," he repeated doggedly, " yoi've got vor to go back." The boy was so much bigger and stronger than either Ned or his companion that the former, although indignant at this interference, did not deem it prudent to attempt to climb the craig, so he said to Tompkins:

  " Of course we ain't going back, but we had better take a turn so as to get out of the way of this fellow."

  So saying they turned to the right and prepared to scout round the rock and continue their way; but this did not suit their obstructor.

  " If ee doan't go back at oncet oi'll knock the heads off thee shoulders."

  " We can't go back," Tompkins said desperately, " we are both as tired as we can be, and my heel is so sore that I can hardly walk. We shouldn't get to Marsden tonight if we were to turn back."

  " That's nowt to oi," the boy said. " Oi bain't agoing to let ee pass here."

  "What are we to do, Ned?" Tompkins groaned.

  "Do!" Ned replied indignantly. "Why, go on, of course. Marsden cannot be more than three miles off, and I ain't going to walk twelve miles round to please this obstinate brute."

  'But he is ever so much bigger than we are," Tompkins said doubtfully.

  " Well, there are two of us," Ned said, " and two to one is fair enough when he is as bio- as the two of us to-gether."

  " We are going on," he said to the boy, " and if you interfere with us it will be the worse for you."

  The boy descended leisurely from his position on the rocks.

  " Oi don't want to hurt ee, but oi've got to do as oi were bid, and if ee doan't go back oi've got to make ee. There be summat a going on thar," and he jerked his head behind him, " as it wouldn'
t be good vor ee to see; and ye bain't agoing vor to see it."

  But Ned and Tompkins were desperate now, and dropping their rods made a rush together against him.

  4c= fm =,i '

  CHAPTER II.

  THE FIGHT ON THE MOOR.

  HE lad threw himself into a position of defence as the two boys rushed at him.

  " Oi doan't want vor to hurt ee," he said again, " but if ee will have it, why, it won't be moi vault;" and swinging his arm round, he brought it down with such force upon the nose of Tompkins that the latter was knocked down like a nine-pin, and, once down, evinced no intention of continuing the conflict.

  In Ned, however, the lad found an opponent of a different stamp. The latter saw at once that his opponent's far greater weight and strength rendered it hopeless for him to trust to close fighting, and he worked round and round him, every now and then rushing at him and delivering a telling blow, and getting off again before his heavy and comparatively unwieldy companion could reply. Once or twice, indeed, the lad managed to strike him as he came in, each time knocking him fairly off his feet; but in the fair spirit which at that time animated English men and

  boys of all classes he allowed Ned each time to regain his feet without interference.

  " Thou bee'st a plucky one," he said, as Ned after his third fall aimin faced him. " but thou bain't strong; enough for oi."

  Ned made no reply, but nerved himself for a fresh effort. The blows he had received had been heavy, and the blood was streaming from his face; but he had no idea of giving in, although Tompkins, in spite of his calls and reproaches, refused to raise himself beyond a sitting position.

  " It's no good, Ned," he replied, " the brute is too big for us, and I'd rather try to walk home all the way round than get another like the last. My nose feels as big as my head."

  Ned hardly heard what his companion said. He would have been killed rather than yield now, and gathering all his strength he sprang at his opponent like a tiger. Avoiding the blow which the boy aimed at him, he leapt upon him, and flung his arms round his neck. The sudden shock overthrew him, and with a crash both boys came to the ground together. Ned at once loosened his hold, and springing to his feet again, awaited the rising of his opponent. The latter made a movement to get up, and then fell back with a cry:

  " Thou hast beaten me," he said. " Oi think moi leg be broke."

  Ned saw now that as the lad had fallen his leg had been twisted under him, and that he was unable to extri-

  cate it. In a moment he was kneeling before the prostrate lad.

  "Oh! I am sorry," he exclaimed; "but you know I didn't mean to do it. Here, Tompkins, don't sit there like a fool, but come and help me move him and get his leg straight."

  Although the boys did this as gently as they could, a groan showed how great was the agony.

  " Where is it?" Ned asked.

  " Aboove the knee somewhere," the lad said, and Ned put his hand gently to the spot, and to his horror could feel something like the end of a bone.

  " Oh! dear, what is to be done ? Here, Tompkins, either you or I must go on to the town for help."

  "It's getting dark already," Tompkins said; "the sun has set some time. How on earth is one to find the way?"

  " Well, if you like I will go," Ned said, " and you stop here with him."

  The lad, who had been lying with closed eyes and a face of ghastly palor, now looked up.

  " There be soom men not a quarter of a mile away; they be a-drilling, they be, and oi was sot here to stop anyone from cooming upon em; but if so bee as thou wilt go and tell em oi has got hurt, oi don't suppose as they will meddle with ye."

  Ned saw now why the lad had opposed his going any further. Some of the croppers were drilling on the moor, and the boy had been placed as sentry. It wasn't a pleasant business to go up to men so engaged, especially with

  the news that he had seriously injured the boy they had placed on watch. But Ned did not hesitate a moment. " You stop here, Tompkins, with him," he said quietly, " I will go and fetch help. It is a risk, of course, but we can't let him lie here."

  So saying, Ned mounted the rock to get a view over the moor. No sooner had he gained the position than he saw some thirty or forty men walking in groups across the moor at a distance of about half a mile. They had evidently finished their drill, and were making their way to their homes.

  This at least was satisfactory. He would no longer risk their anger by disturbing them at their illegal practices, and had now only to fear the wrath which would be excited when they heard what had happened to the boy. He started at a brisk run after them, and speedily came up to the last of the party. They were for the most part men between twenty and thirty, rough and strongly built, and armed with bill-hooks and heavy bludgeons, two or three of them carrying guns. One of them looked round on hearing footsteps approaching, and gave a sudden exclamation. The rest turned, and on seeing Ned, halted with a look of savage and menacing anger on their faces.

  "Who be'est, boy? dang ee, what brings ye here?"

  Ned gulped down the emotion of fear excited by their threatening appearance, and replied as calmly as he could:

  " I am sorry to say that I have had a struggle with a boy over by that rock yonder. We fell together, and he

  has broken his leg. He told me if I came over in this direction I should find someone to help him."

  "Broaken Bill's leg, did'st say, ye young varmint?" one of the men exclaimed. " Oi've a good moinde to wring yer neck."

  " I am very sorry," Ned said; " but I did not mean it I and another boy were walking back from Marsden from fishing, and he wouldn't let us pass; it was too far to go back again, so of course we had to try, and then there was a fight, but it was quite an accident his breaking his leg."

  "Did'st see nowt afore ye had the voight?" one of the other men inquired.

  "No,"" Ned replied; "we saw no one from the time we left the stream till we met the boy who would not let us pass, and I only caught sight of you walking this way from the top of the rock."

  "If 'twere a vair voight, John, the boy bain't to be blamed, though oi be main grieved about thy brother Bill; but we'd best go back for him, voor on us. And moind, youngster, thee'd best keep a quiet tongue in thy head as to whaat thou'st seen here."

  " I haven't seen anything," Ned said; " but of course if you wish it I will say nothing about it."

  " It were best for ee, for if thou go'st aboot saying thou'st seen men with guns and clubs up here on the moor, it ull be the worsest day's work eeVe ever done."

  " I will say nothing about it," Ned replied, " but please come on at once, for I am afraid the boy is in terrible pain."

  Four of the men accompanied Ned back to the rock.

  " Hullo, Bill! what's happened ee ?" his brother asked.

  " Oi've had a fight and hurted myself, and broke my leg; but it wa'n't that chap's fault; it were a vair voight, and a right good 'un he be. Doan't do nowt to him."

  "Well, that's roight enough then," the man said, "and you two young 'uns can go whoam. Marsden lies over that way; thou wilt see it below ye when ye gets to yon rock over there; and moind what I told ee."

  " I will/' Ned said earnestly; " but do let me come up to see how he is getting on, I shall be so anxious to know."

  The man hesitated, but the lad said, "Let um coom, John, he bee a roight good un."

  " Well, if thou would'st like it, Bill, he shall coom."

  " If thou coom oop to Varley and ask vor Bill Swinton, anyone will show ee the place."

  " Good-bye," Ned said to the boy, " I am so sorry you have got hurt. I will come and see you as soon as I can." Then he and Tompkins set off towards the rock the man had pointed out, which by this time, in the fast growing darkness, could scarce be made out. They would indeed probably have missed it, for the distance was fully a mile and a half; but before they had gone many yards one of the four men passed by them on a run on his way down to Marsden to summon the parish doctor, for a moment's examination had
sufficed to show them that the boy's injury was far too serious to treat by themselves. Tired as the boys were, they set off in his footsteps, and managed to keep him in sight until they

  reached the spot whence Marsden could be seen, and they could no longer mistake the way.

  " Now, look here, Tompkins," Ned said as they made their way down the hill; "don't you say a word about this affair. You haven't got much to boast about in it, sitting there on the grass and doing nothing to help me. I shan't say anything more about that if you hold your tongue; but if you blab I will let all the fellows know how you behaved."

  "But they will all notice my nose directly I get in," Tompkins said. "What am I to say?"

  " Yes, there's no fear about their not noticing your nose," Ned replied. " I don't want you to tell a lie. You can say the exact truth. We were coming home across the moors; a boy interfered with us, and would not let us pass; we both pitched into him, and at last he got the worst of it, and we came home."

  " But what's the harm of saying that you and he fell, and he broke his leg?"

  " A great deal of harm," Ned replied. "If it was known that a boy's leg got broke in a fight with us it would be sure to come to Hathorn's ears; then there would be an inquiry and a row. Like enough he would go up to see the boy and inquire all about it. Then the men would suppose that we had broken our words, and the next time you and I go out on a fishing expedition there's no saying what mightn't happen to us. They are a rough lot those moor men, and don't stick at trifles."

  " I will say nothing about it," Tompkins replied hastily;

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  "you may rely on that. What a lucky fellow you are to be going home! Nothing will be said to you for being an hour late. I shall get a licking to a certainty. How I do hate that Hathorn, to be sure!"

  They now came to the point where the road separated, and each hurried on at his best speed.

  "You are late to-night, Ned," the boy's father said when he entered. " I don't like your being out after dark. I don't mind how far you go so that you are in by sunset; but, hallo!" he broke off, as he caught sight of the boy's face as he approached the table at which the rest of the party were sitting at tea; "what have you been doing to your face?"