Before the Hydraulic was opened, the pork-houses were the chief public
attraction to the boys, and they haunted them, with a thrilling interest
in the mysteries of pork-packing which none of their sensibilities
revolted from. Afterwards, the cotton-mills, which were rather small
brick factories, though they looked so large to the boys, eclipsed the
pork-house in their regard. They were all wild to work in the mills at
first, and they thought it a hardship that their fathers would not let
them leave school and do it. Some few of the fellows that my boy knew
did get to work in the mills; and one of them got part of his finger
taken off in the machinery; it was thought a distinction among the
boys, and something like having been in war. My boy's brother was so
crazy to try mill-life that he was allowed to do so for a few weeks; but
a few weeks were enough of it, and pretty soon the feeling about the
mills all quieted down, and the boys contented themselves with their
flumes and their wheel-pits, and the head-gates that let the water in on
the wheels; sometimes you could find fish under the wheels when the
mills were not running. The mill-doors all had "No Admittance" painted
on them; and the mere sight of the forbidding words would have been
enough to keep my boy away, for he had a great awe of any sort of
authority; but once he went into the mill to see his brother; and
another time he and some other boys got into an empty mill, where they
found a painter on an upper floor painting a panorama of "Paradise
Lost." This masterpiece must have been several hundred feet long; the
boys disputed whether it would reach to the sawmill they could see from
the windows if it was stretched out; and my boy was surprised by the
effects which the painter got out of some strips of tinsel which he was
attaching to the scenery of the lake of fire and brimstone at different
points. The artist seemed satisfied himself with this simple means of
suggesting the gleam of infernal fires. He walked off to a distance to
get it in perspective, and the boys ventured so close to the paints
which he had standing about by the bucketful that it seemed as if he
must surely hollo at them. But he did not say anything or seem to
remember that they were there. They formed such a favorable opinion of
him and his art that they decided to have a panorama; but it never came
to anything. In the first place they could not get the paints, let
alone the muslin.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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