The Iron Master

by Jean Stubbs

  The Luddite army was being hindered by help. Ogden and his lieutenants called their forces together and bade them stay together, let the rest do what they would. Thirty years since, Jack Ackroyd and a mere fraction of these numbers had taken and burned down the first spinning-mill in the valley without loss of life, without a wound, without redress: quickly, quietly and efficiently. But this great mob screamed orders and countermanded them, fetched and carried away again, fought to be among the vanguard, snatched weapons even when they could not use them, and hampered those with cooler heads and more purposeful minds.

  Not everyone was out of the Babylon mill. There were children sleeping head to tail in the crowded dormitories, overseers keeping feebler women back, men lying dazed where they had been knocked down and trampled in the rush for freedom. But there was no time for considering niceties such as these. The spearhead of Luddites thrust their way in, and the few defenders fled, hoping to be taken for rebels until they could creep away. Through the great clanking, clattering rooms ran the Luddites, yelling to everyone to get out of their way if they valued their lives. They had fetched barrels of gunpowder with them, oil and fuses, and they shouted that any who stayed would be blown and burned to hell. Still no one thought to clear the place completely before it was destroyed: the inmates because they were too stupid with excitement and terror, the Luddites because they had not time. So the majority of Babylon’s workers tumbled and scuffled outside, leaving the helpless and uncomprehending behind them.

  ‘Stand back!’ roared Jim Ogden.

  His men forced the crowd back. The fuses were lit. They stood almost hushed. Then a great cry rose, for there were faces of fear at the windows of the mill.

  ‘Keep back, keep back!’ Ogden shouted, ‘Shoot down them as moves!’

  The line of onlookers at the front swayed to and fro, curved, altered shape as they struggled to control those who had seen the victims call soundlessly for help. But one or two broke through the line and ran zig-zag, to avoid the gunfire, towards the doomed building. The fine trail of sparks ran faster, faster, gobbling up time.

  ‘Back, back! Further back! Let them go if they wants!’ yelled Ogden.

  The gunfire ceased. The rescuers were almost at the entrance. The faces in the windows were all mouths crying. Then Babylon blew like one great cosmic powder-keg.

  ‘Dunnot leave me!’ cried Harbottle, clutching at the running servant.

  ‘Nay, look after thyself!’ muttered the man, and disappeared.

  Mrs Harbottle and her daughters and their maids were all locked up in the servants’ attic. But Ernest had felt safer in the midst of his men, until they saw the mill go, and the army form into its head and horns again and march for Millside Towers. Now he ran up the stairs and banged upon the attic door, shouting, ‘Let me in! Let me in!’ A chorus of screams was his only answer.

  The Luddites had brought a battering-ram, and they now took up their positions and awaited the word of command. They had been drilled for this moment in the past weeks, and so far everything had gone according to plan. They were exultant as they lifted the mighty oak trunk and began to swing it rhythmically, and as the handsome door started to give their chant grew louder.

  ‘Ba-by-lon. Ba-by-lon. BABYLON.’

  Halfway down his staircase, no longer able to move backwards or forwards, Ernest Harbottle sat down and wept like a frightened child, and rocked to and fro in his fear and grief.

  Ogden took charge of him. He was too precious a hostage to lose. The weaver smiled at the spectacle the mill-owner made, in his crumpled nightshirt, tasselled cap over one eye. And he ordered his men to get everyone out of the villa and set fire to it, while Harbottle watched.

  They smashed and broke and mutilated everything that they would burn, in a frenzy of hatred: grinding little precious things underfoot, shattering glass, beating elegant chairs to pieces against the fine papered walls. And when they had spent their rage they threw their torches into the midst of the kindling, and watched it roar.

  Then Ogden once again brought his forces to order, though all around them was chaos. And he looked upon the destruction he had wrought, and the people he had roused, and reckoned that one last coup would see him sitting in the Town Hall as head of a Radical valley.

  ‘We’ve had enough of him!’ Ogden shouted into Harbottle’s gaping face. ‘We’ll use thee instead!’

  And he cast the man of straw into the flames, and told his men to strap the mill-owner to a pole. They set his nightcap rakishly over one eye, and slapped his quivering cheeks, and hoisted him up on to their shoulders. He perched there, slack-jawed and sawdust-limbed. They could not help but laugh when they looked at him.

  ‘Now,’ said Ogden, spreading his rough map upon a flat stone, and scanning it in the light from Babylon, ‘there’s three ways of getting into Millbridge from here. We can go scrambling up into the woods of Kersall’s estate and come down into the town, but that’s a hell of a long way round and we could easy get lost. So there’s the straight way, over the river and through Millgate, or else right down as far as the turnpike road and up through the middle of the town. What we want to do is to make them think we’re attacking head on, then they’ll fetch most soldiers to defend Millgate. But only the spearhead’ll be there. We’ll send the rest down to the turnpike road, and rush them. There’s nobbut five hundred redcoats in Millbridge, at the outside. There’s nigh on five thousand of us!’

  *

  Hurrying along the road past Flawnes Green, the crowd of valley soldiers, mounted magistrates with civil guards, and armed citizens heard the explosion of gunpowder and saw the sky flame on the hillside.

  ‘That’s Babylon!’ said Squire Brigge. ‘What on earth are your fellows doing about it, sergeant? Why isn’t Colonel Ryder there?’

  ‘He will be holding Millbridge,’ said William. ‘He can hardly march out for every diversion!’

  ‘Then, Mr Howarth, should we not engage with them?’

  ‘I admire your spirit, Squire,’ said William, smiling, ‘but with our numbers we shall have to rely upon wit rather than courage. No, we should join Colonel Ryder. If the Luddites take Millbridge God knows where we shall be!’

  ‘Colonel Ryder will be barricading the town north and south, sir,’ said the sergeant ‘Those are the weak spots.’

  ‘Then we’ll join him at Millgate,’ said Squire Brigge, riding forward again.

  But as they rounded the final bend of the road they saw the insurrectionists preparing to cross the Wynden, and halted, seeing their way barred. From their vantage-point they watched Ogden divide his forces and send the greater part southwards.

  ‘We daren’t come up on them from behind, sir,’ said the sergeant to William.

  ‘No, but we can get into Millbridge by a back entrance,’ said the ironmaster, looking up to his left. ‘I dare say Lord Kersall would not mind our trespassing on his property for once, would he, Squire? And once there we can lend our support where it is most needed. For they look as though they intend to draw fire at Millgate but come up from the turnpike road!’

  The going was awkward, particularly with the wagon, but they all scrambled breathlessly up through the woods, and terrified a gamekeeper on watch. The noble lord, though ill-equipped for modern warfare, had roused his household and disposed them round the estate. In the enigma of the night, William and the civil guard might have been shot before they could reveal themselves as friends, but the soldiers’ bright uniforms were better than an introduction and they all arrived safely at the house.

  ‘Tell me, Mr Howarth,’ said Lord Kersall conversationally, as the ironmaster joined him on the terrace, ‘do you think these damned things would fire? I have them trained in the right direction.’

  And he pointed to a couple of ancient cannons and a pyramid of rusty roundshot.

  ‘I doubt it, my lord, and if they did they might inflict more damage upon you than on the rebels. We are a little too late to fetch anything newer from Snape. Perhaps you would like to
put in a personal order, in case of future trouble?’

  ‘Are you serious, Mr Howarth?’ Testily.

  ‘Not entirely, my lord,’ said William, unable to disguise his high spirits.

  ‘This is hardly the occasion for merriment, sir!’ Sternly.

  ‘I beg your lordship’s pardon,’ William replied, courteous but unrepentant. ‘If your lordship would excuse us, we are bound for the south of the town, where the rebels will make their heaviest assault. We plan to surprise them there. They will not be expecting reinforcements from our quarter!’

  ‘Well done, well done,’ said Lord Kersall, bidding his manservants let the civil force go forward. ‘You may cut down through the Park, Mr Howarth!’

  Which was most kind of him. For the tread of horses and men, and the wheels of the wagon with its load of firearms, made a mire of his greensward which would take months to put right.

  *

  The Luddites halted in the shadowy road, at a safe distance from Millgate barricade, and paused to consider the situation.

  ‘They’ll be waiting behind there, ready to cut us to ribbons!’ said one of Ogden’s lieutenants.

  ‘Nay, we’ve nobbut got to keep ‘em occupied, and the lads’ll come up from behind,’ said Ogden. ‘Here, let’s try owd Harbottle, and see what their trigger-fingers is like!’

  They brought the mill-owner down from their shoulders and untied him. He mouthed at them, helplessly. Some felt uneasy. They could shoot in the heat of the fray, mesmerised by the chants of their fellows, but the thought of sending a man to his death in cold blood disturbed them. Ogden was different.

  ‘Here, Harbottle,’ he said. ‘Run over there. Run! Or I’ll pick you off myself!’ And he raised his rifle and pointed it at the man’s heart.

  Obediently, Harbottle bolted from the shadows. The defenders opened fire almost simultaneously. He gave one shrill scream which was cut off abruptly. He spun, rolled, kicked in the spitting bullets. Then turned on his side and lay still.

  ‘Right,’ said Ogden coolly, ‘now keep ‘em busy, and keep out of range.’

  His lieutenants obeyed without answering, but their appetite for battle had been sated. They were weary with emotion and exhaustion. In their ranks were murmurs of doubt and discontent. They had burned Babylon, which was what they came for. A siege of Millbridge was too much. Besides, it would be getting light in an hour or so and they feared recognition. And the body of the mill-owner seemed pitiable now, lying in the road with its knees drawn up and its nightcap set awry.

  Now a white flag was waved from behind the barricade, and a request to speak with the leader of the Luddites was bawled out. In the ensuing quiet Jim Ogden and two guards stepped forward, and were rewarded by the sight of Colonel Ryder coming up like some be-medalled puppet, flanked by two redcoats.

  ‘I should warn you that you cannot win a fight with professional soldiers,’ cried the colonel, ‘and lives will be lost upon both sides needlessly, also the lives and property of innocent people endangered. We are expecting reinforcements at any time now, who will overwhelm you, but we can hold you for as long as you care to engage with us. Go back, and thank God for the chance I am giving you. You do not deserve it!’ Grimly. ‘And we shall continue to hunt you down! But, for the sake of Millbridge and its citizens, I ask you to disperse peacefully, and not a shot will be fired upon you as you withdraw.’

  A murmur among the Luddites at the back seemed to indicate agreement, but Ogden was too near to total victory.

  ‘Now I’ll tell you summat!’ he shouted at the colonel. ‘You’re on the losing side, my lad, not us. You’ve sent for reinforcements, have you? Where to? Bradford? They’re too busy looking after our Yorkshire brothers there! Preston? They won’t get here in time. You know as well as I do that this country’s on the brink of civil war, and your lot’s fighting the French as well as trying to hold us, and some of you’d come over to us for two pins! We know how many men you’ve got, and we’ve got ten times that, and ten times ten’ll follow us when we’ve taken Millbridge. So look to your muskets, and watch that fancy moustache of yours — it might get blowed off!’

  ‘I will give you two minutes to return to your ranks,’ said Colonel Ryder, watch in hand, ‘and then my men will open fire.’

  ‘Bloody playing at it!’ muttered Ogden in disgust, retreating. ‘Right!’ he ordered his army. ‘Keep out of range, and keep popping at them.’

  ‘Well done, sir!’ said Captain Munnion, shaking William by the hand. ‘I will give you your orders, if I may? The old Roman road cuts straight between the High Street and the turnpike road. There is too much territory to defend beyond it. So we are grouping all the way along the old road, and also guarding either end. The canal bank is covered, and the old town wall fully manned. I wish your people to stay at the back and form an inner shield of defence. And when I give the order to advance, sir, that only applies to my men, not to yours. You are to be the last hope for Millbridge’s safety. But it should not come to that.’

  He spoke factually, cheerfully. But William knew very well that if they had already decided to give up the turnpike road and all the ground between there and the old road, the number of troops was too small for comfort.

  *

  Several times in the last fortnight Charlotte had endeavoured to enter the colonel’s room when he was out: only to be foiled by the presence of his batman, quietly brushing or polishing his master’s uniform; or by hearing one of the other batmen, or another officer, in the rooms nearby. Now, as the troops concentrated on the Luddites, she hurried up the stairs and softly into the deserted room.

  The colonel had made himself comfortable, in an austere fashion. And the heavy clothes chest, which usually stood under the window, had been moved to the foot of his bed, directly over the floorboards she needed to raise.

  Hours since, three army messengers had galloped along the turnpike road, headed for Bradford, Bolton and Preston, to beg for extra troops. Now reinforcements were coming, with more dash than their numbers warranted: the foot-soldiers at a trot, the cavalry at a swifter pace. But in the steady burst of rifle-fire the Luddites were losing their taste for battle. Their strength lay in the speed of a single raid with a single purpose. They were not trained for the long and arduous siege, and Jim Ogden had mistaken their enthusiasm for endurance. Once, twice, they rushed forward and inflicted some damage on the defending forces. Then they hung back. Their hesitation was noted and judged correctly by professional eyes; and William saw something which made him marvel — then, and when he was too old to do anything else but remember.

  The redcoats formed into a double rank; one kneeling, one standing.

  ‘Move the barricade!’ Captain Munnion ordered briskly.

  The Luddites, in astonishment, now saw the objective they had failed to achieve miraculously reached. There were the soldiers, few enough in all conscience, with a civilian group standing well to the back of them, and nothing between them and destruction.

  With a whoop of victory they ran forward, rifles at the ready. And in that moment Captain Munnion cried, ‘Fire!’

  The redcoats had been trained to die in formation. Rank by rank, one kneeling, one standing, they moved forward: firing, turn by turn about. They came on in the manner of automatons, and even though some fell the others continued to advance.

  There was, at once, something so wonderful and so inhuman about them that nothing short of a machine would have withstood them. And their shots were thinning the Luddite ranks to such an extent that the rebels could no longer carry off their injured. The Luddite front-line made a convulsive movement, broke, and scattered. Their concerted run for safety was matched by a similar retreat at the other end of the town.

  Still the redcoats fired and advanced, fired and advanced, until they were ordered to cease: when they immediately became ordinary men again, grinning in self-congratulation. And William and his force chased after the rebels.

  ‘I did tell the fellow,’ said Colonel Ryder, pulli
ng his moustache in quiet satisfaction, ‘that they could not win against professional soldiers! This hit-and-run business is all very well, but it takes a trained man to advance steadily under fire.’

  They were bringing in the dead and wounded on both sides. The siege of Millbridge was over: a mere footnote in the history of Lancashire Luddism.

  The Last Straw

  Twenty-eight

  July 1812

  The ironmaster was a hero, and no doubt he felt that the honour was deserved. The Wyndendale Past spoke warmly of his services to the community, and ended with a diatribe on the offending Luddites.

  ‘ … their Leaders must be Rooted Out, their followers Hunted Down, their Hiding-places Discovered, and all connected with them, Man, Woman and Child, be Punished with the Utmost Severity of the Law … ’

  Whereas Colonel Ryder was stern but just, some of his junior officers and most of the sergeants were interested only in obtaining results. Wounded and captured Luddites were interrogated without thought or care for their condition. Soldiers burst into suspected houses, roughly questioned suspected persons, and flung the smallest offender into prison. On the strength of a doubt, a hint, a careless word, all were in peril. Every scrap of information was ruthlessly followed up. Again, wrongs and grievances of a private nature were aired under guise of loyalty to the Crown, and many a lead ended in nothing more seditious than an old quarrel. But this was martial law with a vengeance, and Wyndendale groaned under a new oppressor. The army net was cast wide, and as they were not too particular as to the quantity of the catch, they were bound to haul in something of value sooner or later.