Sybil - Benjamin Disraeli (book series to read txt) 📗

one."

"Can we be free without suffering," said Gerard. "Is the greatest of human blessings to be obtained as a matter of course; to be plucked like fruit, or seized like a running stream? No, no: we must suffer, but we are wiser than of yore,--we will not conspire. Conspiracies are for aristocrats, not for nations."

"Alas, alas! I see nothing but woe," said Sybil. "I cannot believe that after all that has passed, the people here will move: I cannot believe that after all that has passed, all that you, that we, have endured, that you, my father, will counsel them to move."

"I counsel nothing," said Gerard. "It must be a great national instinct that does it: but if all England, if Wales, if Scotland won't work, is Mowbray to have a monopoly?"

"Ah! that's a bitter jest," said Sybil. "England, Wales, Scotland will be forced to work as they were forced before. How can they subsist without labour? And if they could, there is an organised power that will subdue them."

"The Benefit Societies, the Sick and Burial Clubs, have money in the banks that would maintain the whole working classes, with aid in kind that will come, for six weeks, and that will do the business. And as for force, why there are not five soldiers to each town in the kingdom. It's a glittering bugbear this fear of the military; simultaneous strikes would baffle all the armies in Europe."

"I'll go back and pray that all this is wild talk," said Sybil earnestly. "After all that has passed, were it only for your child, you should not speak, much less think, this, my father. What havoc to our hearts and homes has been all this madness! It has separated us; it has destroyed our happy home; it has done more than this--" and here she wept.

"Nay, nay, my child," said Gerard, coming up and soothing her; "one cannot weigh one's words before those we love. I can't hear of the people moving with coldness--that's out of nature; but I promise you I'll not stimulate the lads here. I am told they are little inclined to stir. You found me in a moment of what I must call I suppose elation; but I hear they beat the red-coats and police at Staley Bridge, and that pricked my blood a bit. I have been ridden down before this when I was a lad, Sybil, by Yeomanry hoofs. You must allow a little for my feelings."

She extended her lips to the proffered embrace of her father. He blessed her and pressed her to his heart, and soothed her apprehensions with many words of softness. There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," said Gerard. And there came in Mr Hatton.

They had not met since Gerard's release from York Castle. There Hatton had visited him, had exercised his influence to remedy his grievances, and had more than once offered him the means of maintenance on receiving his freedom. There were moments of despondency when Gerard had almost wished that the esteem and regard with which Sybil looked upon Hatton might have matured into sentiments of a deeper nature; but on this subject the father had never breathed a word. Nor had Hatton, except to Gerard, ever intimated his wishes, for we could scarcely call them hopes. He was a silent suitor of Sybil, watching opportunities and ready to avail himself of circumstances which he worshipped. His sanguine disposition, fed by a very suggestive and inventive mind, and stimulated by success and a prosperous life, sustained him always to the last. Hatton always believed that everything desirable must happen if a man had energy and watched circumstances. He had confidence too in the influence of his really insinuating manner; his fine taste, his tender tone, his ready sympathy, all which masked his daring courage and absolute recklessness of means.

There were general greetings of the greatest warmth. The eyes of Hatton were suffused with tears as he congratulated Gerard on his restored health, and pressed Sybil's hand with the affection of an old friend between both his own.

"I was down in this part of the world on business," said Hatton, "and thought I would come over here for a day to find you all out." And then after some general conversation he said "And where do you think I accidentally paid a visit a day or two back? At Mowbray Castle. I see you are surprised. I saw all your friends. I did not ask his Lordship how the writ of right went on. I dare say he thinks 'tis all hushed. But he is mistaken. I have learnt something which may help us over the stile yet."

"Well-a-day," said Gerard, "I once thought if I could get back the lands the people would at last have a friend; but that's past. I have been a dreamer of dreams often when I was overlooking them at work. And so we all have I suppose. I would willingly give up my claim if I could be sure the Lancashire lads will not come to harm this bout."

"'Tis a more serious business," said Hatton, "than any thing of the kind that has yet happened. The government are much alarmed. They talk of sending the Guards down into the north, and bringing over troops from Ireland."

"Poor Ireland!" said Gerard. "Well, I think the frieze-coats might give us a helping hand now, and employ the troops at least."

"No, my dear father, say not such things."

"Sybil will not let me think of these matters friend Hatton," said Gerard smiling. "Well, I suppose it's not in my way, at least I certainly did not make the best hand of it in '39; but it was London that got me into that scrape. I cannot help fancying that were I on our Moors here a bit with some good lads it might be different, and I must say so, I must indeed, Sybil."

"But you are very quiet here I hope," said Hatton.

"Oh! yes," said Gerard, "I believe our spirit is sufficiently broken at Mowbray. Wages weekly dropping, and just work enough to hinder sheer idleness; that sort of thing keeps the people in very humble trim. But wait a bit, and when they have reached the starvation point I fancy we shall hear a murmur."

"I remember our friend Morley in '39, when we returned from London, gave me a very good character of the disposition of the people here," said Hatton; "I hope it continues the same. He feared no outbreak then, and the distress in '39 was severe."

"Well," said Gerard, "the wages have been dropping ever since. The people exist, but you can scarcely say they live. But they are cowed I fancy. An empty belly is sometimes as apt to dull the heart as inflame the courage. And then they have lost their leaders, for I was away you see, and have been quiet enough since I came out; and Warner is broken: he has suffered more from his time than I did; which is strange, for he had his pursuits; whereas I was restless enough, and that's the truth, and had it not been for Sybil's daily visit I think, though I may never be allowed to live in a castle, I should certainly have died in one."

"And how is Morley?"

"Right well; the same as you left him: I saw not a straw's change when I came out. His paper spreads. He still preaches moral force, and believes that we shall all end in living in communities. But as the only community of which I have personal experience is a gaol, I am not much more inclined to his theory than heretofore."


Book 6 Chapter 6


The reader may not have altogether forgotten Mr Nixon and his comates, the miners and colliers of that district not very remote from Mowbray, which Morley had visited at the commencement of this history, in order to make fruitless researches after a gentleman whom he subsequently so unexpectedly stumbled upon. Affairs were as little flourishing in that region as at Mowbray itself, and the distress fell upon a population less accustomed to suffering and whose spirit was not daunted by the recent discomfiture and punishment of their leaders.

"It can't last," said Master Nixon as he took his pipe from his mouth at the Rising Sun.

He was responded to by a general groan. "It comes to this," he continued, "Natur has her laws, and this is one; a fair day's wage for a fair day's work."

"I wish you may get it," said Juggins, "with a harder stint every week and a shilling a day knocked off."

"And what's to come to-morrow?" said Waghorn. "The butty has given notice to quit in Parker's field this day se'nnight. Simmons won't drop wages, but works half time."

"The boys will be at play afore long," said a collier.

"Hush!" said Master Nixon with a reproving glance, "play is a very serious word. The boys are not to go to play as they used to do without by your leave or with your leave. We must appoint a committee to consider the question and we must communicate with the other trades."

"You're the man, Master Nixon, to choose for churchwarden," replied the reproved miner with a glance of admiration.

"What is Diggs doing?" said Master Nixon in a solemn tone.

"A-dropping wages and a-raising tommy like fun," said Master Waghorn.

"There is a great stir in Hell-house yard," said a miner who entered the tap room at this moment, much excited. "They say that all the workshops will be shut to-morrow; not an order for a month past. They have got a top-sawyer from London there who addresses them every evening, and says that we have a right to four shillings a day wages, eight hours' work and two pots of ale."

"A fair day's wage for a fair day's work," said Master Nixon. "I would not stickle about hours, but the money and the drink are very just."

"If Hell-house yard is astir," said Waghorn, "there will be a good deal to be seen yet."

"It's grave," said Master Nixon. "What think you of a deputation there? It might come to good."

"I should like to hear the top-sawyer from London," said Juggins. "We had a Chartist here the other day, but he did not understand our case at all."

"I heard him," said Master Nixon, "but what's his Five Points to us? Why he ayn't got tommy among them."

"Nor long stints," said Waghorn.

"Nor butties," said Juggins.

"He's a pretty fellow to come and talk to us," said a collier. "He had never been down a pit in all his life."

The evening passed away in the tap room of the Rising Sun in reflections on the present critical state of affairs and in consultations as to the most expedient course for the future. The rate of wages which for several years in this district had undergone a continuous depression, had just received another downward impulse and was threatened with still further reduction, for the price of iron became every day lower in the market, and the article itself so little in demand that few but the great capitalists who could afford to accumulate their produce were able to maintain their furnaces in action. The little men who still continued their speculations could only do so partially, by diminishing the days of service and increasing their stints or toil and by decreasing the rate of wages as well as paying them entirely in goods, of which