Collected works of j s f.., p.712
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 712
“Question about malicious,” interrupted the younger man softly. “Matter of opinion, sir.”
“Well, leave the word out, then,” continued Bright. “ — secret working against it; so much so that when a public meeting’s called to discuss it, there’s scarcely anybody there! Instead of its opponents being honest and coming out into the open to discuss, criticise, and suggest, they work against it, and against me, by methods that are curiously un-English, doing all they can to poison the minds of their fellow-workers. I become conscious of this — I get to feel, nay, to know that there are people in my employ who do not want to help me towards establishing a model business, but rather desire to foment dissension and bring about what would be nothing less than anarchy. Well, I find out who these people are, and, being a plain, common-sense, straightforward man, I dismiss them. And now look you here!” he concluded, suddenly thrusting his face forward towards his visitors with a searching, somewhat cynical look. “If you were in my place, anxious to settle this business on model lines, entirely in the interest of the workpeople themselves, and you found you’d men in your employ resolved on circumventing you in your schemes, would you do aught different to what I did in showing Howroyd and Jubb that door? Come, now!”
The elder man, who had listened to Bright with great attention and evident sympathy, looked down at the carpet, as if at a loss for an immediate answer. But his companion smiled — and his smile was satirical.
“I should think you know as well as I do, Mr. Marrashaw, that wherever there’s three thousand workers there’s bound to be some that’ll do what you call underground work,” he said. “You can’t stop it, sir! — men will talk, and criticise — aye, and plot, too! It’s always been like that, and always will be.”
“I don’t deny it,” replied Bright. “All I say is this — if I’m endeavouring, as sole proprietor of this business, to put it on the model footing I’ve just spoken of, I’m not going to have any man secretly working to thwart all my good endeavours. Criticism, strong, vigourous, drastic as you like, I’ll welcome — gladly! — so long as it’s open and above-board. But I’ll have no secret work — if I can stop it.”
“You can’t!” said the younger man. “Nobody can! We aren’t in Utopia, and this isn’t the Millennium, Mr. Marrashaw. You might have been certain that in addition to those who would oppose openly, there’d be those who’d oppose secretly. It’s one man’s way to come out into the open — another’s not to. And of course, we know well enough where the secret opposition to your scheme came from. Syndicalism’s afoot in this town, sir!”
Bright gave his informant a knowing look.
“Do you think I’m not aware of that?” he asked. “Of course it’s afoot in this town, and in a good many other places. And — since you’ve mentioned it — it’ll either capture your trades-unions or smash them to pieces! But — that’s neither here nor there, in relation to this present matter, except that both Howroyd and Jubb are out-and-out Syndicalists. Now — what do you want? I’ve had my say — you know quite well where I am. Where are you?”
The elder man stirred himself and looked at Bright almost pleadingly.
“Mr. Marrashaw!” he said. “We don’t want a strike! It’ll be a sore trouble to me, personally, to see a strike start — I don’t want to get across with your people. I’m inclined to agree with you a good deal, I can see your point. But you know what Haverthwaite folk are—”
“I’m beginning to!” interrupted Bright, with a grim smile. “Just beginning!”
“Well, they are,” said the elder man. “And they always were, and they always will be! Now these two men, Howroyd and Jubb, are very popular, and I should say that most of your people’ll side with ’em. And besides, sir, you’ve touched the whole lot in the tenderest spot of all in dismissing these two men — you’ve interfered with liberty of speech. They’re all saying that if a man isn’t free to exercise his own tongue he might as well ha’ been born wi’out one.”
“I gave them a chance to exercise their tongues as much as ever they pleased,” retorted Bright. “If they’d come to my meeting, they could have talked for seven nights on end, if they’d liked! And — I’d have listened, patiently.”
“That’s not it, Mr. Marrashaw,” said the younger man, quickly. “They claim the right to talk when they like, where they like, and how they like. They don’t make fine distinctions, either. In their opinion — and you know how stiff-necked they are when they once form an opinion — you’ve turned off Howroyd and Jubb for free speech, and they argue that if you’ll do it to one you’ll do it to another.”
“I didn’t dismiss Howroyd and Jubb for any such reason,” said Bright.
“No! — but that’s how your folk take it,” replied the younger man. “And that’s the difficulty. They’ve already got it firmly fixed in their heads that Howroyd and Jubb are martyrs — and,” he added, drily, and with a look that was half a wink, “if Haverthwaite folks once start making a martyr of one of their own lot they’ll not half do it — they’ll elevate him into a saint before they’ve done!”
“Well?” said Bright. “I asked — what do you want?”
The younger man glanced at his companion.
“Mr. Marrashaw!” said the elder man. “I’m all for compromise in these matters — I’m an old-fashioned man, and I am! — I believe in compromise. It’s better to settle than to split, any time. Now, you’re just starting out on lines of your own, and I would like to see you develop ’em — I’m sure, always have been sure, that you mean well by your people, and I want to see it go on. Couldn’t you, now — I’m putting it to you — couldn’t you agree that there’s been a misunderstanding; that you’ve no desire whatever to shut Allot Howroyd’s or Lister Jubb’s or any other man’s mouth, if only he’ll come out in the open and be frank about it, and — and take these two back? Then there’d be peace. Come now, Mr. Marrashaw?”
“I’ve already said I haven’t any desire to curb anybody,” replied Bright. “And there’s no misunderstanding. If these men will give me their word that they’ll stop secret methods of propaganda amongst my workpeople, they’re welcome to come back to their jobs, and they can criticise my schemes and plans as much as ever they like — if only they’ll do it to my face. That’s been the position all along. But,” he added, with a significant look, “they won’t!”
“What makes you think that, Mr. Marrashaw?” asked the trades-union representative, quickly and with a certain look of half-suspicious enquiry.
“Because what’s behind them won’t let them,” answered Bright. “And they’ll pay no attention to you. It’s as much your quarrel as it’s mine, if you only knew it. These people are out to do one of two things, so far as you trades-unions are concerned — it’s as I said just now; they’ll either capture or smash you. If they see that they can advance their cause by getting up a strike against me, they’ll do it, in spite of anything you can say. In their opinion trades-unionism, as it exists at present, is a back number: it’s no use. You trades-unionists would leave men like me, employers, a normal rate of profit, wouldn’t you?”
“Well?” assented the younger man.
“These people — syndicalists — wouldn’t leave me or my like anything,” said Bright. “There’s as deep a gulf between you and the syndicalists as there is between them and me! And I tell you that if it’s going to suit the purposes of the group that’s in this town to make mischief between me and my people, they’ll do it, and nothing that you can say or urge will have any effect.”
“You’ve no objection to our trying, Mr. Marrashaw?” suggested the elder man. “We don’t want to see trouble arising at the beginning of winter.”
“You can try whatever you please,” replied Bright. “My position’s just where it was.”
His visitors left him, and he went on with his work, and worked through the day with no further interruption. But just as he was about to go home that afternoon, they came back to him. The elder man looked downcast: the younger appeared to be exceedingly puzzled.
“You’ve had no luck?” said Bright.
The trades-union man shook his head; evidently his perplexity deepened with every added moment of reflection.
“Well, I can’t make it out, Mr. Marrashaw,” he answered. “Seems to me that this underground work that you spoke of must have been going on a good deal more than I’d ever known of! And it seems to me, too, that this Howroyd and Jubb business is now naught but an excuse — just a pretext. Things have gone — so it would appear — beyond that. I’m fairly puzzled by it! I should say, as far as I can make out, that the best part of your folk have been permeated by these new notions. I’m beginning — as a trades-unionist — to feel out of date, as it were!”
“Didn’t I tell you?” said Bright. “Of course you are!”
“Still,” continued the younger man, “they’re sharp enough to make use of that pretext. It’s no use making offers to ’em — such as seem to be leaders. It’s the old spirit — so long as they’re free men in a free land, they’ll use their tongues as, when, and how they please — that’s all we can get out of ’em. But — there’s a lot more behind it. I don’t know what they’re after.”
“Are they going to strike?” demanded Bright.
“I don’t know — we can’t make ’em out, such of ’em as we’ve talked to,” said the younger man. “There’s going to be another meeting to-night — we shall talk to some of ’em again before that. But it’s my opinion that all this has been gathering for a long time, amongst your people. I don’t think there’s another mill in the district where these new ideas are so much to the front as I find ’em to be in yours. There’s been more than one mole at work in your garden, Mr. Marrashaw!”
“I’m aware of it, now,” said Bright. “Look here!” he added, after a moment’s thought. “If you’re going to see these folk, whoever they are, you can give ’em a message from me. If there’s a strike at Marrashaw’s Mill, it’ll be followed by a lock-out at Marrashaw’s Mill! Let ’em understand that. And no man, woman, lad, or lass will ever enter these walls again except on a proper understanding with me. I’m willing to do all and everything for my people that a man can do; I’m willing to make this a model of industrial concerns — but I’ll have no traitors! Whoever walks out of my door will find my door locked on him! That’s dead sure fact!”
With that he nodded a farewell and went away, conscious that he had said his last word.
III
OF WHAT WENT on at the meeting of which the two would-be intermediaries had spoken as being about to be held that night, Bright learnt nothing. He could easily have sent spies to it, and so have acquainted himself with its full details: instead, he went calmly homewards and for once spent an entire evening in playing billiards with Trissie, upon whom he laid a solemnly humourous charge that nothing in the shape of business should be mentioned to him. But he was up and dressed and away from the house long before the light came next morning: for the first time in his life he meant to be at Marrashaw’s Mill in advance of the workfolk. The truth was, he wanted to know if they were coming: some instinct persuaded him that the day on which he and they were entering was to be a critical one.
Haverthwaite, save for the lamps burning here and there in the streets, lay all in darkness as Bright passed through it. Once or twice he met a solitary policeman who stared at him with wonder and curiosity. In the heart of the town he expected to meet nothing beyond these guardians: it would be hours yet before the principal thoroughfares awoke to life. But when he came to the rows of cottages behind the mill, in the district which he had always regarded as an eyesore and cherished intentions of sweeping clean away, he walked more slowly, observing things with a keen and knowing eye. It was then within half an hour of the beginning of the day’s labour, and under ordinary circumstances these streets would already have roused to life: there would have been lights in the windows and the opening of doors and the first clatter of the wooden-soled clogs on the pavements — all signs that the folk were setting out on another day’s toil. But the streets were dark and gloomy; there was only a light here and there; it was only occasionally, as he passed along, that, glancing through some uncurtained window, he caught sight of man or woman busied about the newly-lighted fire on the hearth. And he was quick to note another sign. In the working-class districts of the town, the knocker-up was for six days out of the seven, a highly-important functionary. Armed with a rod long enough to reach the top-story windows of the cottages, he went his way of an early morning, rousing the sleepers by tapping at the casements. He was the herald of the day’s obligations — and that morning he was not in evidence. For all that Bright saw to the contrary, this might have been Sunday.
But when he turned a corner and came in full sight of Marrashaw’s Mill he saw that whatever the workers might be doing or not doing, the opportunities of work lay ready waiting for them. The hundreds of windows blazed with light, and from the great chimney which towered high above the far-stretching roof a column of white smoke was rising thick and massive against the grey of the breaking dawn. The folk who were responsible for the starting out of the day’s labour, then, were there; all was in readiness for the beginning of another spell of effort on the part of the huge industrial machine in which hands and engines, brains and material were all so inextricably mixed up. Bright knew how things went, ordinarily. The great wheels of the engine-house, centre point of the whole affair, began to revolve at a certain moment; machinery started into action all over the huge mill; men and women, lads and lasses, were at their posts — all began and went on as if it had never left off, running as smoothly as a big liner on a placid sea. But as Bright walked slowly towards those long rows of lighted windows, a thought struck him with compelling force. Within that great mill, behind its high walls, pretentious and imposing in architectural effect, lay everything that human ingenuity had been able to devise in the way of machinery; although he was sole owner of it, he knew well enough that he would have found it difficult, almost impossible, to estimate the money value of that machinery, from the gigantic controlling engine, of enormous horse-power, to the most delicately fashioned and latest invention. And — here was his thought — it was all useless, all of no practical purpose, wanting human brains and human hands: without the live men, it was a dead giant.
“So we get down to human labour when all’s said and done!” reflected Bright, with a cynical laugh. He had a momentary vision of a cleverly-designed, highly-ingenious machine, controlled by the mere touch of a girl’s finger. “Hand and brain! — they lick all the contraptions that ever were made. And if they fail—”
He cut off his train of thought at that, and passing into the mill by a side entrance, made straight for the floor over which Lockwood Clough exercised control. He found Lockwood at once — alone. The old overlooker had thrown open a window, and stood by it, looking out on the dark morning: when Bright caught sight of him, he had his watch in his hand. And Bright knew what he was thinking of — it was then close upon time for the great buzzer to sound; its deep, booming note, heard all over the district, and re-echoing from the dark hillside beyond the river, would be followed by that other sound which once heard is never forgotten — the clatter of clogs on the pavements as the factory folk pour out of the streets and make for the scene of their labours. For both these sounds Lockwood was listening, and his face, as he turned to his young master, was anxious.
“Yes,” said Bright, as he went up to the overlooker, “I know what you’re thinking about, Lockwood. I’m wondering that, myself. But you know more than I do.” Lockwood put back his watch.
“There was a big meeting last night — in that old circus building,” he said. “A lot of speaking! I was there — in a quiet corner. Seems to me, reckoning things up, that there must have been a deal of disaffection amongst our folks for a long time. Underneath, like. I’d suspicions of it, Mr. Bright — I warned your father, long since. And now — taking this as a chance — they’re for having it out, once for all. This Howroyd and Jubb business is just a peg to hang things on.”
“What’s the chief grievance — the real grievance?” asked Bright.
Lockwood made a gesture which indicated something akin to despair.
“Nay!” he exclaimed. “I don’t know! — couldn’t make out. I don’t think they know. Five out o’ six, anyway. It’s all vague talk — general dissatisfaction. They don’t want putting off with profit-sharing schemes. As far as I could make out—”
He paused, as if uncertain and puzzled, and looked at Bright with a smile which seemed to suggest that it was mere folly to repeat what he had heard.
“Go on!” said Bright.
“Nay!” exclaimed Lockwood. “They seem — the out-and-outers, anyway — to want everything for themselves! There was one chap — a stranger that they’d fetched in from somewhere, Manchester, I think — who said straight out that the time was come for workers to take over all the big industries themselves, and that now was an opportunity — if our folk would lead, others would follow.”
“The immediate thing is this,” said Bright. “Was anything decided? Are we going to have a strike?”
“I heard nothing definite,” replied Lockwood. “But there was a general feeling, and they were all talking amongst themselves. And,” he added, with a half-amused, half-concerned laugh, “if the way I dropped in for it as I was coming out means aught, I should say the feeling’s pretty high!”
“What happened to you, then?” asked Bright.
