Through The Fray: A Tale Of The Luddite Riots

by G. A. Henty

  But the doors were tremendously strong and were backed with plates of iron.

  The defenders were not idle; all had their allotted places at the windows, and from these a steady return was kept up in answer to the scattering fire without. Ned had caught up the gun which Mr. Cartwright had laid down when he ran to the bell-rope, and with it he kept up a steady fire at the dark figures below. There was a shout of " Bring up Enoch!"

  This was a name given to the exceedingly heavy hammers at that time used in the Yorkshire smithies. They were manufactured by the firm of Enoch & James Taylor of Marsden, and were popularly known among the men by the name of their maker. A powerful smith now advanced with one of these heavy weapons and began to pound at the door, which, heavy as it was, shook under his blows. Ned, regardless of the fire of the Luddites, leaned far out of the window so as to be able to aim down at the group round the door, and fired.

  The gun was loaded with a heavy charge of buckshot. He heard a hoarse shout of pain and rage, and the hammer dropped to the ground. Another man caught up the hammer and the thundering din recommenced. Mr. Cartwright had now joined Ned, leaving his workman to continue to pull the bell-rope.

  "You had better come down, Sankey. The door must give way ere long; we must make a stand there. If they once break in, it will soon be all up with us."

  Calling together three or four of the soldiers the manu-

  in the mill at the failure of the attack. The defenders gathered in the lower floor.

  " I think they are all gone now," Ned said. " Shall we go out, Mr. Cartwright, and see what we can do for the wounded ? There are several of them lying round the door and near the windows, I can hear them groaning."

  " No, Ned," Mr. Cartwright said firmly, " they must wait a little longer. The others may still be hiding close ready to make a rush if we come out; besides, it would likely enough be said of us that we went out and killed the wounded; we must wait a while," Presently a voice was heard shouting without:

  "Are you all right, Cartwright?"

  " Yes," the manufacturer replied. " Who are you ?"

  The questioner proved to be a friend who lived the other side of Liversedge, and who had been aroused by the ringing of the alarm-bell. He had not ventured to approach until the firing had ceased, and had then come on to see the issue. Hearing that the rioters had all departed, Mr. Cartwright ordered the door to be opened. The wounded Luddites were lifted and carried into the mill, and Mr. Cartwright sent at once for the nearest surgeon, who was speedily upon the spot.

  Long before he arrived the hussars had ridden up, and had been despatched over the country in search of the rioters, of whom, save the dead and wounded, no signs were visible. As day dawned the destruction which had been wrought was clearly visible. The doors were in splinters, the lower window-frames were all smashed in, scarce a pane of glass remained in its place throughout the whole building, the stonework was dotted and splashed with bullet marks, the angles of the windows were chipped and broken, there were dark patches of blood in many places in the court-yard, and the yard itself, and the roads leading from the mill were strewn with guns, picks, levers, hammers, and pikes, which had been thrown away by the discomfited rioters in their retreat.

  " They have had a lesson for once," Mr. Cartwright said as he looked round, " they won't attack my mill again in a hurry. I need not say, Sankey, how deeply I am obliged to you for your timely warning. How did you get to know of it?"

  Ned related the story of his being awakened by Mary Powlett. He added, " I don't think, after all, my warning was of much use to you. You could have kept them out anyhow."

  " I don't think so," Mr. Cartwrioht said. " I imagine that your arrival upset all their plans; they were so close behind you that they must have heard the knocking and the door open and close. The appearance of lights in the mill and the barking of the dog would, at anyrate, have told them that we were on the alert, and seeing that they ran on and opened fire. I have no doubt that their plan was to have stolen quietly up to the windows and commenced an attack upon these in several places, and had they done this they would probably have forced an entrance before we could have got together to resist them. No, my lad, you and that girl have saved the mill between you."

  " You will not mention, Mr. Cartwright, to anyone how I learned the news. The girl's life would not be safe were it known that she brought me word of the intention of the Luddites."

  " You may rely on me for that; and now, if you please, we will go off home at once and get some breakfast. Amy may have heard of the attack and will be in a rare fright until she gets news of me."

  Mr. Cartwright's house was about a mile from the mill. When they arrived there it was still closed and quiet, and it was evident that no alarm had been excited. Mr. Cart-wright's knocking- soon roused the servants, and a few minutes later Amy hurried down.

  "What is it, papa? What brings you back so early? it is only seven o'clock now. How do you do, Mr. Sankey ? Why, papa, how dirty and black you both look! What have you been doing? And, oh, papa! you have got blood on your hands!"

  " It is not my own, my dear, and you need not be frightened. The attack on the mill has come at last, and we have given the Luddites a handsome thrashing. The danger is all over now, for I do not think the mill is ever likely to be attacked again. But I will tell you all about it presently; run and get breakfast ready as soon as you can, for we are as hungry as hunters, I can tell you. We will go and have a wash, and will be ready in ten minutes."

  " We can't be ready in ten minutes, papa, for the fires are not lighted yet, but we will be as quick as we can;

  and do please make haste and come and tell me all about this dreadful business."

  In half an hour the party were seated at breakfast. Amy had already been told the incidents of the fight, and trembled as she heard how nearly the rioters had burst their way into the mill, and was deeply grateful to Ned for the timely warning which had frustrated the plans of the rioters.

  In vain did the soldiers scour the country. The Luddites on their retreat had scattered to their villages, the main body returning to Huddersfield and appearing at their work as usual in the morning.

  Large rewards were offered for information which would lead to the apprehension of any concerned in the attack, but these, as well as the notices offering two thousand pounds for the apprehension of the murderers of Mr. Horsfall, met with no responses. Scores of men must have known who were concerned in these affairs, but either fidelity to the cause or fear of the consequences of treachery kept them silent.

  Mr. Cartwright was anxious to offer a handsome reward to Mary Powlett for the service she had rendered him, but Ned told him that he was sure she would not accept anything. Mr. Cartwright, however, insisting on the point, Ned saw Mary and sounded her upon the subject. She was indignant at the idea.

  " No, Master Ned," she said, " I would not take money, not ever so. I came down to tell you because I thought it wicked and wrong of the men to destroy the mill, and

  because they would no doubt have murdered Mr. Cart-wright and the people there; but I would not take money for doing it. Even if nobody ever got to know of it, it would always seem to me as if I had sold the hands, and they have suffered enough, God knows."

  " I don't think Mr. Cartwright thought of offering you money. I told him that I was sure that you wouldn't take it, but he hoped that he might be able to do something for you in some other way."

  " No, thank you, sir," Mary said with quiet dignity; " there isn't any way that I could take anything for doing what I did."

  " Well, Mary, we won't say anything more about it. I only spoke, you know, because Mr. Cartwright insisted, and, of course, as he did not know you he could not tell how different you were from other girls. There is no suspicion, I hope, that you were away from the village."

  " No, sir, I don't think so. Two of the men sat here talking with feyther till past eleven o'clock, but they thought that I was in bed, as I had said good-ni^ht and had gone into m
y room an hour before, and I did not see anyone about in the village as I came back over the moor behind."

  " None of the hands belonofino- to the village are missinsf, I hope, Mary. I was glad to find that none of them were among the killed and wounded round the mill."

  " No, sir, except that John Stukeley has not been about since. The smithy was not opened the next morning and the chapel was closed yesterday. They say as he has been taken suddenly ill, but feyther thinks that perhaps he was wounded. Of course men don't speak much before feyther, and I don't talk much to the other women of the village, so we don't know what's going on; anyhow the doctor has not been here to see him, and if he had been only ill I should think they would have had Dr. Green up. Old Sarah James is nursing him. I saw her this morning going to the shop and asked her how he was; she only said,it was no business of mine. But she doesn't like me because sometimes I nurse people when they are ill, and she thinks it takes money from her; and so it does, but what can I do if people like me to sit by them better than her? and no wonder, for she is very deaf and horribly dirty."

  " I don't think they are to be blamed, Polly," Ned said smiling. "If I were ill I should certainly like you to nurse me a great deal better than that bad-tempered old woman."

  The attack on Cartwright's mill made a great sensation through that part of the country. It was the most determined effort which the Luddites had yet made, and although it showed their determination to carry matters to an extremity, it also showed that a few determined men could successfully resist their attacks.

  Nothing else was talked about at Marsden, and as Mr. Cartwright everywhere said that the success of the resistance was due entirely to the upsetting of the plans of the rioters by the warning Ned had given him, the latter gained great credit in the eyes of all the peaceful inhabi-

  tants. But as it would make Ned still more obnoxious to the Luddites, Major Browne insisted on placing six soldiers permanently at the mill, and on four accompanying him as an escort whenever he went backwards or forwards.

  Ned was very averse to these measures, but the magistrates thoroughly agreed with Major Browne as to the danger of assassination to which Ned was exposed from the anger of the croppers at his having twice thwarted their attempts, and he the more readily agreed as the presence of this guard soothed the fears which Charlie and Lucy felt for his safety whenever he was absent from the town. What perhaps most influenced him was a conversation which he had with Mrs. Porson.

  " Your mother was speaking of you to me to-day, Ned," she said; "it is the first time she has done so since I made her acquaintance. She began by saying,' Please, Mrs. Porson, tell me all about this attack on George Cartwright's mill; Abijah and Lucy have been talking about it, but Abijah always gets confused in her stories, and of course Lucy knows only what she is told. I should like to know all about it.' Of course I told her the whole story, and how much Mr. Cartwright says he is indebted to you for the warning you brought him, and how everyone is speaking in praise of your conduct,and what a good effect it has had.

  " I told her that of course the Luddites would be very much incensed against you, and that it was adding to the risks that you already ran. She lay on the sofa quietly with her eyes shut all the time I was speaking.

  I could see hex 1 colour come and go, and some tears fell down her cheeks; then she said in a tone which she tried to make hard and careless, but which really trembled, 'The military ought to put a guard over my son. Why does he go risking his life for other people ? What business is it of his whether Cartwright's mill is burned or not?' I said that Mr. Cartwright had been very kind to you, and that I knew that you were much attached to him. I also said that the military were anxious that you should have an escort to and from the mill, but that you objected. I said that I was afraid that your life had not much value in your own eyes, for that it was by no means a happy one. 'It has value in other people's eyes,' she said irritably, 'in Lucy's and in his brother's? What would they do if he was to throw it away? Who would look after the mill and business then? He has no right to run such risks, Mrs. Porson, no right at all. Of course he is unhappy. People who let their tempers master them and do things, are sure to be unhappy, and make other people unhappy too; but that is no reason that he should cause more unhappiness by risking his own life needlessly, so, Mrs. Porson, please talk to your husband and tell him to make my son have an escort. I know he always listens to Mr. Porson.'"

  " Naturally my mother is anxious, for the sake of Charlie and Lucy, that I should live to carry on the mill until Charlie is old enough to run it himself," Ned said bitterly.

  "I do not think that it is only that, Ned," Mrs. Porson

  said kindly. "That was only the excuse that your mother made. I could see that she was deeply moved. I believe, Ned, that at heart she still loves you dearly. She has this unhappy fixed idea in her mind that you killed her husband, and believing this she cannot bear to see you; but I am sure she is most unhappy, most deeply to be pitied. I cannot imagine anything more dreadful than the state of mind of a woman who believes that a son of hers has murdered her husband. I think that if you quite realized what her feelings must be you would feel a little less bitter than you do.

  "I know, Ned, how much you have to try you, but I am sure that I would not exchange your position for that of your mother. Her pain must be far greater than yours. You know that you are innocent, and hope that some day you may be able to prove it. She thinks she knows that you are guilty, and is in constant dread that something may occur that may prove your guilt to the world."

  "Perhaps you are right, Mrs. Porson," Ned said wearily; "at anyrate I will put up with the nuisance of this escort. I suppose it will not be for very long, for I expect that we shall not hear very much more of the Luddites. The failures upon Cartwright's mill and mine must have disheartened them, and the bio- rewards that are oft'ered to anyone who will come forward and betray the rest must make them horribly uncomfortable, for no one can be sure that someone may not be tempted to turn traitor."

  "What is the matter with Bill?" Ned asked Luke Mar-ner that afternoon. "I see he is away."

  "Yes, sir, he be a-sitting with John Stukeley, who they say is main bad. It seems as how he has taken a fancy to t' lad, though why he should oi dunno, for Bill had nowt to do wi' his lot. Perhaps he thinks now as Bill were right and he were wrong; perhaps it only is as Bill ha' got a name in the village of being a soft-hearted chap, alias ready to sit up at noight wi' anyone as is ill. Anyhow he sent last noight to ask him to go and sit wi' him, and Bill sent me word this morning as how he couldn't leave the man."

  "Do you know what is the matter with him?"

  "I dunno for certain, Maister Ned, but I has my suspicions."

  "So have I, Luke. I believe he got a gunshot wound in that affair at the mill." Luke nodded significantly.

  "Dr. Green ought to see him," Ned said. "A gunshot wound is not a thing to be trifled with."

  "The doctor ha' been up twice a day on the last three days," Luke replied. "Oi suppose they got frighted and were obliged to call him in."

  "They had better have done so at first," Ned said; "they might have been quite sure that he would say nothing about it to the magistrates whatever was the matter with Stukeley. I thought that fellow would get into mischief before he had done."

  "It war a bad day for the village when he coomed," Luke said; "what wi' his preachings and his talk, he ha' turned the place upside down. I doan't say as Varley had ever a good name, or was a place wheere a quiet chap

  would have chosen to live. For fighting and drink there weren't a worse place in all Yorkshire, but there weren't no downright mischief till he came. Oi wur afraid vor a bit when he came a-hanging aboot Polly, as the gal might ha' took to him, for he can talk smooth and has had edi-cation, and Polly thinks a wonderful lot of that. Oi were main glad when she sent him aboot his business."

  "Well, there is one thing, Luke; if anything happens to him it will put an end to this Luddite business at Varley. Such a l
esson as that in their midst would do more to convince them of the danger of their goings-on than any amount of argument and advice."

  "Itwill that,"Luke said. "Oi hear as theyare all moighty down in the mouth over that affair at Cartwright's. If they could not win there, when they were thirty to one, what chance can they have o' stopping the mills ? Oi consider as how that has been the best noight's work as ha' been done in Yorkshire for years and years. There ain't a been anything else talked of in Varley since. I ha' heard a score of guesses as to how you found owt what was a going on in toime to get to the mill—thank God there ain't one as suspects as our Polly brought you the news. My own boys doan't know, and ain't agoing to; not as they would say a word as would harm Polly for worlds, but as they gets a bit bigger and takes to drink, there's no saying what mightn't slip out when they are in liquor. So you and oi and Bill be the only ones as ull ever know the ins and outs o' that there business."

  CHAPTER XX.

  CLEARED AT LAST.

  HE night was a wild one. The weather had changed suddenly, and the rain beat fiercely in the faces of the hands as they made their way back from the mill up to Varley. As the night came on the storm increased. The wind as it swept across the moor swirled down into the hollow in which Varley stood, as if it would scoop the houses out of their foundations, and the drops of rain were driven against roof and wall with the force of hailstones.

  Bill Swinton was sitting up again with John Stukeley, and as he bent over the sick man's bed and tenderly lifted his head while he held a cup with some cooling drink to his lips, the contrast between his broad, powerful figure, and his face, marked with the characteristics alike of good-temper, kindness, and a resolute will, and the thin, emaciated invalid was very striking. Stukeley's face was without a vestige of colour; his eyes were hollow and surrounded by dark circles; his cheeks were of an ashen-

  gray pallor, which deepened almost to a lead colour round his lips.