CHAPTER II
THE ATTACK ON THE COLLIERY
Not often has Europe been in a greater state of unrest than it was atthe time this story opens. James II, the exiled King of England, hadlately died in his French home, and his son, afterwards famous as theOld Pretender, had been acknowledged as the new English king by LouisXIV of France, to the joy of the many Jacobites England stillcontained, but to the dismay of the majority of Englishmen. There waslikely to be dire trouble also respecting the vacant throne of Spain.There had been originally three candidates for the throne of theweakling Charles, not long dead--Philip of Anjou, whose claims had thepowerful support of his grandfather, the ambitious Louis; Charles, thesecond son of the Emperor Leopold of Austria; and Joseph, theElectoral Prince of Bavaria. But the last mentioned had died, leavingthe contest to Philip and Charles, the French and Austrian claimants.The rest of Europe was naturally in alarm when the alreadytoo-powerful Louis actually placed his grandson on the Spanish throne.Practically the step amounted on the part of France to an annexationof the once predominant kingdom of Spain with all its appanages. Andwhen the Grand Monarque, as his flatterers called him, proceededfurther to garrison the strongholds of the Netherlands, then a Spanishprovince, with his own troops, it was clear that Louis consideredhimself King both of France and Spain. As for the Protestants ofEurope, their very existence seemed to be threatened by the designs ofthe French sovereign.
Who was there, then, to withstand the ambitious and arrogant Louis?There was but one great and effective opponent, William of Orange,King of England. He had spent his life in thwarting the ambitiouspolicy of the French monarch, and so long as William lived Louis wassure of a vigorous and powerful antagonist. And William was preparing,in both his English and his Dutch dominions, for yet another conflict.War was indeed imminent; the sole question being when it wouldactually break out, and who would be ruler over England when it did.For William III was in feeble health; his death might occur any day,and his crown pass to his sister-in-law Anne. Such was the conditionof affairs at the time George Fairburn left St. Peter's School atYork.
January brought many new orders for the Fairburn pit, and the ownerhad work for more men. So greatly was his business increasing, thatthe proprietor of the little colliery came to a decision that seemedlikely to affect his son's whole future life.
"What would you like to be, my lad?" he one day inquired abruptly.
"A soldier, dad," was the prompt reply, the boy regarding his fatherin some wonderment, nevertheless.
"A soldier, says the lad!" Fairburn exclaimed, no less surprised bythe answer than George had been by the question. "It is the mostdetestable of all trades, that of soldiering, and about the mostempty-stomached. Don't talk of such a thing, my good lad."
In vain George entered into a defence of the military profession,referring to the many great soldiers with whom his school readings inthe histories of Greece and Rome and England had made him more or lessacquainted. Fairburn was not to be charmed, and with a deep sigh theboy gave up the contest. He was still more upset when his fatherproceeded to tell him that he would not return to St. Peter's, butwould remain at home to assist in the business till a place could besecured for him in some great London house.
It was not a task he cared about; anybody could have done it, hethought, as he entered the weights on little tickets. But George had alarge fund of common sense and a deep respect for his father. He didnot grumble or sulk, but resolved that as he had to do the work hewould do it thoroughly.
Half an hour later he started and flushed to see Mr. Blackett andMatthew, both well mounted, and followed by a groom in livery, comeriding by. He trusted they would not notice him at his dusty anddisagreeable task. Alas! the field path they were pursuing led closepast the spot, and George observed the look of surprise on their faceswhen they saw him. The father gave no sign of recognition; Matthewlooked uncomfortable and nodded in a shamefaced kind of way. Georgeflushed, and for a moment felt a bitter anger surge within him; thenhe called himself a dolt for caring a straw what they thought of him.It was a little hard, however, to think that Matthew Blackett would begoing back to his beloved school and studies, while he, also aPeterite, was engaged in such a humdrum task as weighing coal at thepit mouth.
His father's energy at this time was prodigious. Fairburn was afootearly and late. In spite of the cold and stormy weather of winter hemade two or three trips to London in his collier brig, always toreport on his return a notable addition to his trade. Once, too, onhis homeward voyage, he had had himself put ashore a little north ofSpurn, and had trudged the five and twenty miles to Hull, the risingport on the east coast. Then, after appointing an agent and startingwhat seemed likely to grow into a big business, he had tramped thehundred and twenty miles or more that separated him from Newcastle andhis home, cutting a quaint figure on the road, with his old-fashionedhat and cloak, and his much-twisted and knotty oak stick. The resultof all this energy was that when he was in a joking mood he would say,"We shall have to see about buying another pit, mother--Blackett's,perhaps, as I hear they have little going on there at present."
And indeed the Blackett colliery did at that time seem to be under acloud. Trade fell off, and almost every week hands were discharged.Fairburn was secretly a little afraid of mischief from theseout-of-works, especially when he himself was absent from home.
Towards the end of February England was startled by the news that KingWilliam had been thrown from his favourite steed Sorrel, at HamptonCourt, and was lying in a precarious state, his collar-bone broken. Aweek or two later came the tidings of William's death, and of theproclamation of the Princess Anne as Queen.
The news had an extraordinary effect on Mr. Blackett. Ordering hiscoach, he drove in haste to his colliery, hoisted a big flag there,proclaimed a holiday on full pay, and sent for a copious supply ofale. His son Matthew, who had not gone back to school at York, amusedhimself and the men by firing unnumbered salvoes from a couple ofsmall cannon he possessed.
"Now that Billy the Dutchman is out of the way," Squire Blackett criedexultingly, "Whiggery will soon be dead, and England will be ruled byits rightful sovereign, who will be assisted by lords and gentlemen ofsound policy."
A huge banner was hoisted, and the Squire and his son headed aprocession to the neighbouring villages. The jubilant colliery ownerand his merry men took care to pass the Fairburn pit, with franticcheerings and hallooings.
"What does it all mean?" George, who was in charge in the absence ofhis father, inquired of the old overlooker of the colliery.
"It means beer, George," the ancient replied, "beer and froth, andnothing else."
"Nothing else! I hope that is a true word, Saunders, that's all. Imislike the looks of some of those fellows."
"Why, to judge from all the whispers we hear," the overlookercommented, "we are like enough to get our backs well hazelled beforelong."
George gave a word of caution to the pitmen when they left work thatafternoon.
"There are sure to be insults," he said, "but take no notice, and keepout of harm's way."
But the fates were against George and his pit that day. Hardly had thelittle gang of Fairburn colliers turned the corner of the lane whenthey were met by an excited mob carrying a huge sheet on which wasrudely printed in big characters, "Down with all Whigs!"
"An insult to the gaffer, that's as plain as the nose on a man'sface," cried one of the Fairburn fellows, and without more ado, hedashed forward and made a grab at the offending canvas. He wasforestalled, however, a man of the opposing party deftly tripping himup and sending him sprawling into the mud. Before the unlucky pitmancould rise the whole mob had surged over him, amidst shrieks oflaughter.
On this the Fairburn men threw all George's cautions to the winds, andcharged the mob. Instantly a hot fight was going on around the bigbanner. Even old Saunders, the overlooker, caught one of theopposition gang by the collar, crying, "Ye loons, what for are yecoming our way again? Ye ha' been once to-day, wi' your jibes and
jeers; isn't that enough?"
"Jibes and jeers, old lad! Eh, there'll happen be mair than that aforebedtime."
Meanwhile there was rough work around the banner. In spite of theefforts of the bearers and their friends to protect the canvas, one ofthe Fairburn men had got a grip of it, and in a second the thing hadbeen torn from its supporting poles, amid mingled cheers andexecrations. The canvas itself was pulled hither and thither by theopposing gangs, each striving to retain possession of it. Bit by bitthe banner was torn to pieces, the men fighting savagely for even thesmallest shred of it, each man pocketing his piece as a trophy, tillat length there was nothing of the thing left visible.
Cries of, "On to the pit wi' ye, lads!" were by this time plentiful,and with a dash the now much augmented mob surged in that direction.Under old Saunders the Fairburn men disputed every yard of the way,but they were entirely outnumbered, and were slowly but surely forcedback upon the works they had so recently left. All had happened in thecourse of a very few minutes.
George, on his way to his home, some half mile away, had made scarcehalf the distance when his ears were assailed by the noise of conflictsomewhere behind him. He stopped and listened, the yells growinglouder and fiercer every instant. Then he darted back towards the pit,reaching the spot just in time to see his men make a dash for theshelter of the sheds around the mouth, followed by a howling,threatening mob.
In a moment the youngster sprang through the entrance of the largestof the sheds, and closed the door, shooting home the two thick roughbars of wood that did duty for bolts, amid shouts from his men of "Theyoung gaffer! We'll all stick to him!" And in spite of his youth,George was at once installed as captain of the little Fairburn band.He had always been highly popular with the men of the colliery; theyliked his entire freedom from vain show and swagger, and hispleasant-spoken manner.
"What have we in the way of weapons, lads?" he asked, taking a hastyglance round the dimly-lit shed. Darkness was coming on apace evenoutside; within the shed the men had to grope their way about.
There was very little that would serve, except a number of pickaxes, afew shovels, and two or three hayforks belonging to the stables. Thesewere served out, and then one man found the master's gun, with apowder-flask and a handful of sparrow shot.
"Better let me have that," said George, quietly relieving the man ofthe weapon, the old overlooker approving with a "Aye, that's right;you'll keep a cooler head than Tom there."
The mob outside surged down on the door in force, and with loud yells.The door stood the shock, and the major part of the attackers in atrice turned their attention to the smaller buildings dotted here andthere about the pit's mouth. One by one these sheds were pulled topieces, to the ever-increasing delight of the mob. George and his menwere powerless to stop the destruction.
"We must not venture out," the boy said, "unless the scoundrels turntheir attention to the windlasses and the gear."
So his men had to grind their teeth in rage and look on helplessly.
As was expected, the rioters presently came back to the big shed, oneof them, evidently the leader, advancing with a felling-axe.
"Keep back, rascal!" shouted George. "Keep from the door, or I'll puta few peppercorns into your hide."
From a chink in the door George recognized him as the very man he hadso unceremoniously knocked from his perch and so merrily battered inthe bout of singlestick that day on the landing-stage.
The fellow answered with a curse and lifted his axe to stave in thedoor. Before the weapon could descend a report rang out in thetwilight, and with a scream the attacker sprang from the ground, andthen fell to rubbing his legs vigorously.
"One on 'em peppered," remarked old Saunders grimly.
The crowd outside fell back in haste, and a burly fellow at thatinstant appearing on the scene with a small cask of ale on hisshoulder, a diversion was caused. The fight was transferred to thecircle round the ale barrel, the already half-crazy fellows strugglingdesperately to get at the liquor.
"By Jupiter!" cried George, seeing his opportunity in a moment, "nowis our chance! Let them get fully occupied and we have them. Let themonce return and they will be madder and more reckless than ever."
And seizing every man his weapon, the little party in the shedprepared to sally forth, old Saunders whispering to his nextneighbour, "The lad is a game 'un, if ever I saw one."
Just as George was preparing to draw the bolts he caught sight ofyoung Blackett. His old schoolfellow was haranguing the men,gesticulating violently, and pointing excitedly towards the largeshed. Matthew had in reality just heard of the fray, and had at oncerun up to do what he could to stop it. But George Fairburn did notknow this. "The knave!" he exclaimed, beside himself with anger, "he'sthe very ringleader of the party! He's kept himself till now in thebackground. But he shall pay for his pains!"
Flinging back the bars, George dashed forth upon the ale-drinkinggroup his little band following at his heels. With a shout theyswooped down upon the foe, and in an instant a score of heads werebroken, the luckless owners flung in all directions around the cask.One of the prostrate ones held the spigot in his hand, and theremainder of the liquor bubbled itself merrily to the ground.
So utterly unprepared were the fellows for the onset, and so mauledwere they in the very first rush, that a general alarm was raised. Inthe darkening they imagined themselves surrounded by a strongreinforcement of the Fairburn party, and at once there was a wildstampede from the premises. Men and hobbledehoys stumbled off in hothaste, pursued by the victorious handful under George.
Not that George himself gave any heed to all this. At the very firsthe had dashed to the spot where Matthew Blackett was excitedlyshouting to the rioters.
"Coward!" cried Fairburn, "to set on your scoundrelly fellows--"
"Set on the fellows!" Matthew began in amazement, but he got nofarther.
"Up with your fists!" cried George, "and we will see which is thebetter man!"
There was no time for explanations, though young Blackett opened hismouth to speak. He had in truth but time to throw up his hands to wardoff George's vigorous blow, and the next moment the fight was in fullswing. Matthew was no coward, and once in for warm work, he played hispart manfully. At it the two boys went, each hitting hard, and bothcoming in for a considerable share of pummelling. For a time noneheeded them, every man having enough to do in other quarters. But atlength they were surrounded by a small group of the Fairburn men whohad now driven off the enemy and remained masters of the field.
Once or twice, when the two stopped a moment to recover breath,Matthew opened his mouth again to make an explanation, but as oftenhis pride held him back, and he said nothing. So the fight went on.
How long this fierce duel might have lasted it is hard to say. Butjust as the boys were almost at the end of their strength there was aneffective interruption. It was time, for both combatants were heavilypunished. They had not been so ill-matched as one might at first sighthave suspected. George was the stronger and harder fellow, but Matthewhad the advantage in the matter of height, and more particularly inlength of arm, which enabled him to get in a blow when his opponent'sfell short; though the less robust of the two he had as much pluck aspride, and would have fought on to the last gasp.
The sound of clattering hoofs was heard, and, from opposite quarters,two horsemen dashed up. They were Mr. Blackett and the elder Fairburn.
With Marlborough to Malplaquet: A Story of the Reign of Queen Anne Page 2
