“Yes, please ma’am.”
“And what makes it so, my dear? The cotton that goes into it looks as white as snow. I never can get any body to tell me any thing about a mill, but I think it must be very curious — and I want to know, Michael, what good such very little creatures as you can do there; yet I have heard papa say, that he pays a vast quantity of money to quite little children, and that’s the reason, he says, that the factories are such a blessing to the country. You get wages, don’t you, my little fellow?”
“Yes, ma’am; I gets two shilling a week, and Teddy eighteen-pence, ‘cause he’s weaker.”
“That is not much, to be sure; but it’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” — I “Do the children in general like it?”
“Like what, ma’am?”
“Working in the factory, my dear, and getting money for their poor parents.”
“The children likes to have the wages,” replied Michael.
“But perhaps they do not like to do any work for them, Michael?” said Martha, laughing. “That’s what papa says. But it is not right, my dear, for little boys and girls to be always at play, you know. Don’t you think, Michael that it is proper for poor people’s children to do something to help themselves if they can?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Michael, but in so low a tone, that it was as much as Martha could do to hear it; and so melancholy a look accompanied the words, that she could not help thinking there was a great deal of truth in what she had constantly heard repeated by most of her father’s friends and neighbours, as well as himself — namely, that the factory children were a race of very idle, ungrateful little creatures; spoilt by the high wages and indulgence they received, and quite unconscious of the inestimable advantages they possessed over all the other children in the British dominions.
But, nevertheless, though this disagreeable conviction pressed very painfully upon her, Martha could not help feeling very kindly disposed towards little Michael; and upon his presently saying, “Shall I go to mother and Teddy, if you please, ma’am?” she almost forgot all the naughtiness she attributed to him and his fraternity, and only remembering the disadvantage that any disobedience to her father’s wishes might bring upon him, said, “Wait one moment, Michael, and I will find papa, and ask if you may change your dress, in order to visit your brother in the factory.”
So saying, she left the room, and having ascertained that the visiters were gone, ventured to seek her father in the drawing-room; where she found him deep in consultation with Dr. Crockley, his two eldest daughters, and his son, as to the possibility of converting the school-room into a theatre: all being of opinion that the great drawing-room must be reserved for the ball, and the dining-room for the supper, which it was agreed on all sides must follow the representation.
“May I speak to you, papa?” said Martha, timidly, on perceiving that the whole party were exceedingly earnest upon some theme or other.
“Oh! goodness, Martha, don’t come to plague us now!” exclaimed Arabella.
“It is very odd, but Martha always does come in the way of every thing,” said Harriet.
“I wish you were married or buried, child!” cried the lively Augustus; “for you make a monstrous bad hand at playing the young lady of fashion. Upon my life you grow fatter every day. Doesn’t she, doctor? I wish you would dose her a little.”
“That Miss Martha is a little opaque, I will not deny,” replied Dr. Crockley, familiarly coming behind her, and measuring the expanse of her waist with his two hands.
“May I speak to you, papa?” repeated the patient Martha, quietly retreating from the jocose hands of Dr. Crockley, but apparently quite insensible to all the other attacks.
“What do you want to say, Martha?” demanded Sir Matthew. Thus much encouraged, she drew near and whispered to him, “The little boy that you have taken in, papa, wants to know if he may put on his old clothes again, and go to speak to his brother in the factory?”
“Do you hear this, doctor?” exclaimed Sir Matthew; “the boy wants to go back to the factory again. Isn’t that an answer to all the trash that people have been trying to get up about their being over-worked? It is just like ’em — that’s the very model of a factory child — do what you will, you can never content ’em.”
“The chap want’s to get back to the factory?” said Dr. Crockley, addressing himself to Martha, with an accent that indicated surprise. “That’s curious enough, any how.”
“No, sir, I do not believe he wants to do any more than speak to his brother, who is at work there — he wanted to take him something that was left at luncheon, papa.”
“And to show off his own good living to the factory? That’s it, I suspect, doctor; one can understand that — and what do you say to it? I should have no objection, I think; what’s your opinion? only I don’t see the fun of his going in his old rags, if he went as you saw him just now, it would make some fun, wouldn’t it?”
“Capital, by Jove!” replied the doctor. “How quick you are, Sir Matthew! you seize every thing in a moment. What do you say to our going along with him? Mightn’t we catch a hint or two, as to how things were going on?”
“If I’m quick, Crockley, upon my soul you are not slow,” replied the knight “You’ve got your horse here, of course?” The doctor nodded assent. “Then I will order mine, and we’ll ride down to the mill together. So get along, Martha, and tell the boy that! will take him to the factory with me, but that he is not to change his clothes.”
Martha felt quite aware that she had not executed her commission successfully. But there was no help for it, and therefore with the best grace she could, she told her little client the result of it.
The whole aspect of the boy changed as he heard it, and, as if instinctively, he placed the precious basket, that till now he had continued to hold firmly in his hand, upon a table near him.
“But take your basket, Michael,” said the kind-hearted Martha, in a voice that was intended to cheer him; “lam sure papa won’t be angry at your doing that, for I told him about it.”
“No, please ma’am, I’d rather not,” said Michael.
“Well, then, go into the hall, by that door, and wait till Sir Matthew comes through. Perhaps he will speak to you about it, and at any rate you had better carry it as far as that.”
The child obeyed her, and taking up again the treasure he no longer valued, passed out into the hall; but before Sir Matthew and his friend entered it, Michael had put the worthless basket out of sight.
Hardly had he done so, when he heard the coarse laugh of Sir Matthew and the respondent titter of the doctor approaching. The little fellow started, and jumped aside, in order to place himself out of their way; but the knight, striding to the place where he stood, seized him by the shoulder with his hand, while with a vigorous action of his enormous foot, he sent him forward towards the house-door. This feat, which was performed with considerable dexterity, met its reward, in the shout of laughter with which Dr. Crockley welcomed it. “By Jove, Sir Matthew!” he exclaimed, as soon as he bad recovered his breath; “there is nothing like you on the face of God’s earth. — It is a confounded monopoly though, let me tell you. No man has a right to be the deepest reasoner, the best jester, and the most finished man of taste of his age. It’s monstrous, Sir knight, and a conspiracy against you would be a very honest plot.”
And as he spoke he held his sides, as if still suffering from the effects of his excessive merriment.
A servant who followed the facetious pair now opened the door, and on the broad esplanade of gravel before it a couple of grooms were holding the gentlemen’s horses. As soon as they were seated in their saddles, with a mounted attendant behind them, the great manufacturer turned round his head to seek the object of his charity. Michael stood doubting and trembling on the lowest step of the portico, while a faint hope fluttered at his heart, that the grand gentlemen would ride away and forget him; but it was quickly chased by the voice of
Sir Matthew, who, bringing his horse’s head so close upon the child, as to touch him, while he seemed almost to shrink into the pillar by which he stood, to escape it, said in a voice, the jeering tone of which again almost convulsed Dr. Crockley with laughter, “Pray, young gentleman, may you happen to know the way to Brookford factory?”
The boy looked out upon the wide-spreading park; and though, despite the carefully-chosen position of the mansion, many towering grim-looking chimney cones were seen to rise amidst their own lurid smoke in the distance (for in that direction lay the town of Ashleigh), he could catch no glimpse of the hated walls that for years past had formed his daily prison-house. He, therefore, answered, but not very audibly, “No, sir, if you please.”
“Speak up, my hero!” vociferated Sir Matthew, advancing upon him, “Yes, or no?”
“No;” replied the boy, distinctly.
“Then be pleased to have the kindness to do me the favour of following my horse, and I will have the honour of showing you the way.”
So saying, Sir Matthew gave a merry look of intelligence to his friend, and they set off together at a brisk trot.
Michael, for a piecer, (The children whose duty it is to walk backwards and forwards before the reels, on which the cotton, silk, or worsted is wound, for the purpose of joining the threads when they break, are called piecers, or pieceners.) was a tall child for his age; and, though his limbs were wretchedly thin and attenuated, they had sufficient elasticity to enable him for some time to keep at no great distance, though it was a constantly increasing one, from the two gentlemen; but, by degrees, his breath and strength failed, and perforce his speed relaxed into a panting, shuffling, walk.
Sir Matthew, who from time to time turned round a laughing face to look at him, now reined up his horse and awaited his approach; upon which Michael redoubled his efforts, and in a few minutes stood beside his benefactor.
“Step on, young gentleman; step a little quicker, if you please; or, perhaps, I may find a way to mend your pace: I am not very fond of such lazy company.” And, suiting his action to his words, he gave the quivering child several sharp cuts across the shoulders with his riding-whip.
“He trots out in style now, doesn’t he, doctor?” said Sir Matthew gaily, making his well-bitted horse cross and recross the road in such a manner, that, at each manœuvre, the goaded child fancied himself already trampled beneath his feet. “Don’t you think I should make a good dancing-master, Crockley?”
“Capital, by Jove! — Egad, the youngster has learned some vastly pretty steps already. By the way, Sir Matthew,” continued the philosophical physician, “when one watches that pale-faced young scamp making such active caprioles for no reason on the earth, but because he hears your pretty gentle jennet snuffing at his shoulder, — when one watches that, it is impossible not to see that nothing in God’s world but sheer wilful laziness makes those obstinate little brutes, at the factory, pretend to totter, and stumble’ and faint, and the devil knows what; when all their work is to walk backwards and forwards as leisurely as if they were parading for pleasure. Nothing shall ever make me believe but that all the grunting and grumbling we hear about overworked children, proceeds from a regular conspiracy among the worst of the parents. And, upon my soul, if you yield to it, you’ll soon have to look after the wheels yourself.”
“Get on with ye, to the lodge there, you lazy cur,” said the knight, addressing his panting protégé, “and wait till we come up.” Then reining up his horse, Sir Matthew drew close to his highly-valued intellectual companion, and falling into a gentle footpace, continued the scientific discussion with deep interest, and a wonderful clearness of perception.
“It is quite curious to me, Crockley,” he said, “to observe how common sense and observation will often make a man of tolerable ability hit upon the very same facts, and come exactly to the very same conclusions as the man of science, who has passed his whole life in study. What you have mentioned now, is precisely what has occurred to me over and over again, a thousand times, I am sure, at the very least, since I have been working Brookford factory. For just watch, my dear Crockley, any little village vagabond that you may chance to see as you ride about the country — just watch him at play; and tell me where you’ll find a grown man that can keep moving as he does?”
“Nowhere, Sir Matthew, nowhere upon the face of the earth; and it stands to reason, in spite of all that the confounded canters can say to the contrary, that nature made them so on purpose. Why, what’s steam? — Let them answer me that. Is steam man’s making? Isn’t it sent by Providence? And what for, I should like to know? Isn’t it for the good of mankind? And how is that good to be had, if the nimbleness of children is not brought to bear upon it? It is neither more nor less than a most shocking impiety, Sir Matthew; and, upon my soul, if I were you I would build a meeting-house of my own, and hire a preacher too, at a pretty good salary, to preach against it. But no Church of England parson remember; because, if they don’t preach the doctrine you like, you would have no power to turn ’em out.”
“You’re right, Crockley. That’s a devilish good idea; I’ll turn it over in my head, and I shall like to hear some more of your notions about it. By the way, Crockley, you must not think of going home to dinner to-day. We’ll have a cool bottle of claret, and talk the matter comfortably over. And there’s another thing, too, I want to speak to you about. There’s a devilish deal of talk about the health of the factory brats; and I have a notion of appointing a regular medical practitioner upon my establishment, who might always be ready, if called upon, to answer any questions that might be asked. Now, I hear you are a man, Crockley, capable of obliging a friend that deserves it; and, if it’s agreeable to you, instead of looking in now and then to give us an opinion as you do now, you shall have a regular appointment, with a couple of hundred a year, just to look after the health of the children.”
“I should like such an arrangement exceedingly well, Sir Matthew. You know my love of science; and this would give me a capital opportunity for speculating upon different constitutions. Egad, Sir Matthew, I should like to write a book upon the subject. I think a monstrous deal of good might be done that way.”
“No doubt about it, Crockley: a clever fellow, like you, may throw an amazing deal of light upon a subject that is really becoming exceedingly important; especially when one recollects that the national wealth and prosperity depends upon it altogether. You must come and dine with me often, Crockley, without any ceremony; and we may be able to hit out many a good thing over the bottle.” The two gentlemen now reached the lodge-gates, where little Michael stood waiting for them; and as the high-road soon turned in such a direction as to make Brookford factory visible, he was ordered to run on, and wait at the gates without minding them. They accordingly proceeded in their conversation without interruption; and in the course of it, some very excellent hints were thrown out relative to the manufacturing interests in general, and to that of Brook ford factory in particular.
Having reached the gates of what was generally termed his “magnificent establishment,” and waited till the stylish groom in attendance upon him came up, Sir Matthew, and his estimable friend, left their horses with him, and entered the court, which, protected by a very lofty wall, surrounded the buildings on all sides.
Those persons who have, once in their lives, seen a large cotton-factory, need no description of it; for it has features which, once looked upon, can never be forgotten; but, for the information of those who have not, a slight sketch’ of Sir Matthew Dowling’s establishment shall be given.
It consisted of very extensive buildings constructed in the centre of the enclosed court, and forming three sides of a vast square; the fourth being open on the side fronting the principal gates of entrance. When it is stated that the edifice consisted of six stories, and that each side of it presented six lines of windows, containing forty windows in each line, some idea of its magnitude maybe conceived.
Michael was already at the gates, and,
on the approach of Sir Matthew, rang the bell; a ceremony necessary to obtain admittance both for masters and labourers; no means of entrance or exit being ever left unsecured for a single instant.
The summons was answered by a lame boy, stationed within to perform the office of porter. He bent low before the great man, and low too before his jeering friend; though the jocose visits of the latter to the factory were dreaded as much as the lash itself.
Neither the one nor the other seemed to see him, but passed on. Then followed poor little Michael, hating most cordially the bravery of the attire, which made him expect to meet the ridicule, rather ‘ than the sympathy, of his late companions.
On seeing a young stranger, the lame porter looked up; but from him, at least, Michael had nothing to fear; for the boy’s languid eye surveyed his altered person, without the slightest suspicion of ever having seen it before. Sir Matthew, like most others of his craft, was not in the habit of indulging his family by exhibiting to them the secret arcana of that hideous mystery by which the delicate forms of young children are made to mix and mingle with the machinery, from whence flows the manufacturer’s wealth. This divine portion of the vast engine being considered, however, as a very inferior, though necessary, part of it. But, although they had never honoured the premises with a visit, it was, of course, well known to all that Sir Matthew Dowling was the father of a numerous progeny; and Michael passed on amidst such blessings as human nature, under such circumstances, was likely to bestow on one of them.
The party entered the building, whence — as all know who have done the like — every sight, every sound, every scent that kind nature has fitted to the organs of her children, so as to render the mere unfettered use of them a delight, are banished for ever and for ever. The ceaseless whirring of a million hissing wheels, seizes on the tortured ear; and while threatening to destroy the delicate sense, seems bent on proving first, with a sort of mocking mercy, of how much suffering it can be the cause. The scents that reek around, from oil, tainted water, and human filth, with that last worst nausea, arising from the hot refuse of atmospheric air, left by some hundred pairs of labouring lungs, render the act of breathing a process of difficulty, disgust, and pain. All this is terrible. But what the eye brings home to the heart of those, who look round upon the horrid earthly hell, is enough to make it all forgotten; for who can think of villanous smells, or heed the suffering of the ear-racking sounds, while they look upon hundreds of helpless children, divested of every trace of health, of joyousness, and even of youth! Assuredly there is no exaggeration in this; for except only in their diminutive size, these suffering infants have no trace of it. Lean and distorted limbs — sallow and sunken cheeks — dim hollow eyes, that speak unrest and most unnatural carefulness, give to each tiny, trembling, unelastic form, a look of hideous premature old age.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 174
