A Parade Of Virtue (A Poor Man At The Gate Series Book 9)

by Andrew Wareham

  “They had no savings, would have been hard-pressed to pay the rent and feed the other children in a month without her pay.”

  “Many Unions have Sick Clubs for their people.”

  Tonks shook his head, this one was too new for the Club to have built up funds.

  “So… nothing in the Strike kitty either?”

  “Nothing, Mr Star. Even with subventions from older established Union shops in other towns and donations from a few well-wishers, they will be hard-pressed to pay five shillings a week in strike pay, and that for no more than a month.”

  “Then, Mr Tonks, it is up to us to, ah, shall we say, ‘strike while the iron is hot’.”

  Tonks applauded his master’s wit.

  “I shall announce the change tomorrow, sir, to take immediate effect. It is now January – I shall inform them that the mills will close for the first week of August, thus giving them six months to save their pennies for the sennight in which they will not be earning. I have it in mind to pay the engineers an extra pound a week to be available on call at all times. They are in any case, so this is in effect something for nothing, and fifty-two pounds a year out of the blue, as one might say, should cement the loyalty of all four.”

  George Star thought this to be a very crafty move, said he would certainly do the same.

  “The engineers will be to hand for the whole of the Holiday Week, I presume, Mr Tonks.”

  “All four will be needed, I am sure, together with some labourers to assist them… There’s a thought, sir! A reward to the most worthy, though not necessarily expressed as such… What if the chosen few should be begged to work, say, three days of their week off, and paid at perhaps the rate for four days?”

  “That should break ‘the solidarity of the labouring classes’! Well done, Mr Tonks!”

  The change to working practices in Lodestar was given out on the Monday morning, all of the foremen instructed to pass the message to the hands, being sure to speak to each one – most were illiterate so notices could not be used.

  The mill-owners of the town met informally on the Wednesday, all just happening to choose to dine in the one hotel at the same time. All were aware of the change at Lodestar and most were actively considering following that example.

  George Star stood and briefly addressed them, reminding them of the ancient tradition of the Wakes Week, that time when, in the distant past, the town had made holiday and work had been suspended for all. He did not point out that this had been in the agricultural days when there was nothing to do in the weeks immediately before harvest.

  Somehow, it all seemed much more a decent, kindly, paternalistic action they were taking – restoring the habits of the golden, olden days. How could they be accused of money-grubbing when they were returning old liberties to their people?

  Every mill-owner agreed to follow Lodestar’s example, with immediate effect, including some who could not see quite what the advantage must be but would not be left behind.

  “Why, sir, there is a saving in coals, because the steam engines will never grow cold on a Sunday and have to heat up again on Monday. The interest on your loans is the same, whether your mill is working six days to repay it or seven. If you pay ground rent, as many do, that will not rise. The Poor Law will be the same, but costing a lesser part of each day’s production, spread over seven rather than six. Orders that might have taken seven weeks to complete will now be done in six so more may be taken in a year. There are great gains to be made, and only small costs to pay.”

  The hands did not like the changes. They complained to the Union, which said at first that it could do nothing. It was rapidly made clear that if they wanted their sixpence a week dues from the men then they must do something – they had no choice.

  Reluctantly, the leaders of the Union knocked on the mill-owners’ doors. Most told them to bugger off, refused even to speak to them. Those who condescended to see the shop-stewards did so in order to identify them; they made no concessions at all.

  The local branch of the Union took advice from its central organisers in Manchester, who advised a public meeting, a demonstration, to be attended by all members. That in itself meant that at least one half would have to leave work to be there, would in effect be a short strike.

  The mill-owners warned that any hand who walked out of the mill would not walk in again. They would be locked out, and, if that meant too few people to run the whole place, then the doors would be shut to all ‘until they had come to their senses’.

  “That will anger many of them, Mr Star. They may well be pushed into further defiance.”

  “Better now while the Union is weak, Mr Tonks, than in five years or so when they have more in the way of funds.”

  “It could lead to a full-scale strike, Mr Star, possibly as long as a month before they were starved into submission.”

  “We have the money in the bank to last three months without any problems. If we have a lock-out then we can rebuild all of the looms in the original Lodestar mill – they are overdue for it, and we could use as well the labour of loyal hands who wished to stay in work.”

  Tonks thought a moment then nodded almost to himself.

  “Thwaites is working on a shoe-string at the moment, I hear, sir. He delivered to a London merchant who put the cargo aboard ship for the Cape and went bankrupt when it foundered in the Downs, still in sight of the Kent coast. Thwaites will not see a penny until the insurance pays up, and probably no more than half of all he is due then. Even a fortnight of strike would suffice to send him to the wall, I believe.”

  “No doubt we could, as an act of kindness, offer to buy him out before the bailiffs walk in, should the unfortunate occasion arise.”

  “An act of Christian charity, sir!”

  “It would be so, indeed. Keep an eye to Thwaites, if you would be so good, Mr Tonks.”

  The mill-owners met again, overtly on this occasion, and warned the trouble-makers that not all of those locked out would necessarily ever be let in again – it was always possible to replace the disloyal.

  The shop-stewards, knowing that they were the prime targets, met as well and chose to fight rather than surrender. They called an all-out strike with immediate effect.

  The town died overnight.

  The air became clearer as fifty steam engines dowsed their fires; the streets emptied as the delivery drays stayed in their stables; the canal boats all quietly left to find cargoes elsewhere.

  “The Union has called a meeting for Friday, Mr Star. It is estimated that ten thousand men and women will be present on the waste ground down by the canal. They will dole out their five shillings apiece first, so every locked-out hand will be present – even those who have no love for the Union and are frightened by the strike must be there.”

  “Five bob, Mr Tonks. The responsible men will know it is too little to keep their families on; the drunks will see it as enough for a wet weekend. Violence by nightfall, I would imagine.”

  “Probably, sir.”

  “Then we must notify the authorities, Mr Tonks.”

  “Ten thousand rioters, in potential, Mr Star.”

  “A regiment of horse – I would prefer regular cavalry to Yeomanry, obviously. A full battalion of Militia. Who is posted locally, do you know, Mr Tonks?”

  “Somersetshire, I believe, sir, one of the larger battalions, a nominal roll of eight hundred and forty men. Allowing for servants and cooks and sick and various contingencies then they should be able to put five hundred muskets together, if they are concentrated in the one town.”

  “Adequate, I would think, Mr Tonks. I shall send an emergency address to the Lord Lieutenant, begging his aid. He will be aware of the situation, should require little prodding.”

  The militia were posted in companies across the whole of Lancashire and would have to march in some cases for two full days to assemble the battalion as a whole. There was a regiment of Dragoons quartered in Manchester and they arrived, a few less than four hundred stron
g on the Thursday.

  The magistrates, almost none of them mill-owners, gathered together on the Friday morning, distant from the scene of the mass meeting by a safe mile. They were country gentlemen, disinclined to sympathise with the mob but regarding the nouveau riche of the mills with a degree of distaste. They were much inclined to call a plague on both houses and leave them to fight out their differences. The Sheriff’s officer begged them to come to order and presented them with his master’s words, which they knew came directly from the Lord Lieutenant and would be the government’s policy.

  “There must be no revolution here, gentlemen. Disorder is not to be permitted and property must be protected. The word is, however, that there is to be no second Peterloo here – there is to be no massacre of the workers. The mob must not be permitted to march upon the mills, but there will be no attempt to disperse them either. It is recommended that the public houses shall be ordered to close with immediate effect, and that the pawn shops must be ‘encouraged’ to close their doors for the length of the strike.”

  The Bench had no power to order pawn-shops closed, but they could threaten to arrange that each should be ransacked for stolen goods, with a guarantee that some would be found, the proprietor arrested, the premises shut down. The owners of the pawn-shops would cooperate, and the striking workers would find themselves with no source of cash, no possible way of feeding their families.

  “It is felt, gentlemen, that the mill-owners should be encouraged to end their lock-out, that all workers who wish to return to their looms should be permitted to do so. The Militia will from Monday set sentries overnight at each mill and will provide escorts morning and night to strike-breakers.”

  “Very satisfactory, Mr Tonks! The strike will peter out over the month, in the nature of things the most obdurate identifying themselves for future reference. I will wager that one half of the men will show at six o’clock on Monday morning, and probably all of the female hands.”

  “There will be a deal of bad-feeling, sir – the blacklegs may expect derision, possibly brick-bats, as they turn up, assuming that is, that they have a mill to report to. The sentries will be set from Monday, sir.”

  “And today is Friday. Do you think they will try to burn us out, Mr Tonks?”

  “Many of the closed public houses will pass barrels and gin bottles out by the back-door and the men will gather in stables and barns and warehouses out of sight and control. Supplies will start to run out on Saturday, I would imagine, and they will become restless, ready for any mischief soon after.”

  “What’s to be done?”

  “Was I to drive into Manchester, sir, post-chaise for speed, then I suspect I could find a hundred unemployed men in the streets – Irish probably, casual labourers and ready to take two sovereigns from any man. A dozen carts and I could have them here by the back roads and lanes, out of sight, for Saturday evening. A pick-axe handle apiece and we could certainly protect our own – and if Mr Thwaites or another unfortunate might find himself with his stock burned, well, that would be their problem, sir.”

  “Do it, Mr Tonks. I shall organise bread, cheese and tea – no booze I think, not if you are to recruit Irishmen. I shall send my family to Freemans, for their safety.”

  "Star was bad enough, but this bloody Tonks is an animal!"

  The gin bottle passed on round the circle of young men sat about a small fire, huddled together in the shelter given by the yew trees that surrounded the graveyard of the old church, two full miles out of town and hidden away. They had been there all night, as the half a dozen empty bottles testified.

  "I'm 'ungry!"

  "Better get used to it, Josiah - you're belly's goin' to be empty more often than full from now on!"

  "That bastard Tonks ain't goin' to be starvin'!"

  "Not 'im!"

  "I got a couple of bob left."

  "Me, too."

  There were mutters around the circle and they threw all they had into a kitty. It was enough for a pie apiece, and a half a dozen loaves of dark bread and a couple of pounds of hard cheese. Food for the day, and eight bottles of gin as well, if they could find a seller.

  "Josiah, and you Liam, you look more respectable than the rest of us. You go into town and see what you can pick up."

  The speaker, the son of the would-be shop steward, John Peck, was accepted leader of the younger and disaffected hands. Victor had learnt his letters at his father's side and had then taken all of the education the free Sunday School at chapel could offer. After that he had read all he could from improving books borrowed from the library there, and from less edifying but often more entertaining texts which circulated more or less for free amongst the literate hands of the mills. The Union organisers were aware that there was never enough for the brighter young men to read and did their best to find occupation for their bored hours - pamphlets and short texts were always available. Victor knew of the Rights of Man, and was aware that there had been a 'Golden Age' in the past - though he was unsure of its exact details. He knew as a certainty that he and his like had been dispossessed by the greedy mill-owners and the landed interest, and that they were kept down by their horses and guns.

  Josiah and Liam returned carrying a wicker basket between them.

  "Seventeen meat pies, Vic, at tuppence each - that's two and ten gone. There ain't no bread in any of the shops - they all sold out this mornin' and ain't got no flour comin' in, so they all says. I got spuds instead, big'uns to bake in the fire, like. Got some cheese, but I reckons it cost twicet as much as 'twere yestiday, and there weren't much of it left on they shelves. I did see old Jimbo down to the Sheep's 'Ead, and 'e let me 'ave what 'e'd got. Fourteen quart bottles of 'is best, what 'e let go cheap acos of 'e says they goin' to billet the Militia on 'im, and they buggers would steal the bloody lot any'ow."

  "Are the Militia in town already?"

  "Tomorrow for sure, Jimbo said. They's all due to march in on Sunday as ever is."

  Josiah thought no more of the news, sat down with his pie. Liam sidled across to Victor, uncomfortable with his news.

  "I did see thee's sister, Jemima, Vic."

  Jemima was not spoken of in the Peck household - good chapel-goers - since she had gone to work for Tonks.

  "She did tell I that Tonks 'ave gone away for a day or two, on an errand for Star."

  "So, there ain't nobody at the mill, and the Militia ain't got 'ere yet, and the bloody horse soldiers is in the centre of town and out on the west side looking out for the shops and the toffee-noses."

  "Thass right, Vic. She did say to I, as well, that Tonks told 'er as 'ow the better part of 'alf the men 'ave seen 'im on the quiet and said as 'ow they wants to come in on Monday morning, and the door's goin' to be open for 'em. And them as don't come in is like to find 'emselves on the blacklist acos of 'ow 'e's goin' to get 'ands acrost from Manchester to take they jobs."

  The whole group heard Liam's last words, spoken out loud for their benefit.

  None of them were married and all could, at a pinch, go elsewhere in the country or overseas. If they were blacklisted they would have no choice, and knew as well that they would have to be quick on their feet, for the Watch would take them up at any excuse and transportation would wait for them.

  "They bloody blacklegs ain't goin' to take our jobs if there ain't no mill! We ain't never goin' to be welcome back if we don't go in first thing Monday - and I ain't goin' to knuckle down to that bastard! Thrown me dad in jail, and 'e'll be lucky if 'e only gets fifty lashes at the triangle, and at 'is age that'll break 'im! More like they send 'im down and 'e'll be dead inside a month! And all for a few scraps of shoddy!"

  Victor made no mention of his sister's fate, the Scarlet Woman being responsible for her own degradation in his mind.

  "But, there is a mill, Vic!"

  "Not if we gets into the loading bay with a gallon of coal oil, there ain't."

  "But there's a pair of watchmen on Saturday night and all day Sunday."

  Anoth
er, slurred voice interrupted them.

  "Tell 'em they's goin' to get a clip round the ear'ole if they open's they bloody gobs! I'm on, Vic!"

  Mick was drunk, and was always up for trouble, and was capable of punching any man in the mouth if he did not like what he had to say.

  "Soon as it gets dark, we goes into town, round the back lanes, out of sight. They got coal oil, and more than just one gallon of it, in the back storeroom for the lights for the night shift. They always got a lantern lit at the gate."

  At dusk they set out sixteen strong; Mick was too drunk to walk and they left him stretched out beside the fire. The others spent an hour making their way as quietly as they could round the outskirts of town and down to the mills near the canal.

  Jerry Tonks and George Star walked the rounds of the freshly recruited guards, reminding them that they should take care to identify any man before they used their clubs.

  "It might be me in the middle of the night, lads, or Mr Star, or even a pair of watchmen doing their rounds, though that ain't very likely. The Militia will not be out tonight, I have that from their major in person, so you need not worry about them."

  "And, sir, if we are sure that it is men of evil intent, what then?"

  "Then, I shall pay a bonus for each one you capture for me, lads - and I'm not to be arguing what condition they happen to be in. If they put up a fight, then you are not to let them get away, if you can possibly stop them. There are eighty of you, and I doubt there would be half that many of trouble-makers, but you must remember that they will be armed, or so I am told, so make no mistakes. I have taken you on for two nights, on good money. Do the job and I will find something more for you - I do not forget men who work well for me!"

  The strike could be expected to peter out slowly over a few weeks, Tonks thought, and the blacklegs, the men who broke the strike by coming into work, would need protection. He would be able to keep a group of guards in employment, and the other mill-owners could be expected to chip in to their cost.