England -- Fiction; Strikes and lockouts -- Fiction
'They did help us. Money to the tune of eighteen thousand pounds came to
us; but we was a large body--many mouths to feed, and the strike was
prolonged. We had to come-to at last, for the masters wouldn't; and we
voted our combination a nuisance, and went humbly to 'em, like dogs with
their tails between their legs, and craved to be took on again upon
their own terms. But we couldn't get took back; not all of us: the
masters had learnt a lesson. They had got machinery to work, and had
collected workmen from other parts, so that we was not wanted. And
that's all the good the strike brought to us! I came away on the tramp
with my family, and got work in London after a deal of struggle and
privation: and I made a vow never to belong willingly to a strike
again.'
'Do you see where the fault lay in that case?--the blame?--the whole
gist of the evil?'
The question came from a gentleman who had entered the room as old White
was speaking. The men would have risen to salute him, but he signed to
them to be still and cause no interruption--a tall, noble man, with
calm, self-reliant countenance.
'It lay with the masters,' he resumed, nobody replying to him. 'Had
those Manchester masters resisted the first demand of their men--a
demand made in the insolence of power, not in need--and allowed them
fully to understand that they were, and would be, masters, we should, I
believe, have heard less of strikes since, than we have done. I never
think of those Manchester masters but my blood boils. When a principal
suffers himself to be dictated to by his men, he is no longer a master,
or worthy of the name.'
'Had you been one of them, and not complied, you might have come to
ruin, sir,' cried Robert Darby. 'There's a deal to be said on both
sides.'
'Ruin!' was the answer. 'I never would have conceded an inch, though I
had known that I must end my days in the workhouse through not doing
it.'
'Of course, sir, you'd stand up for the masters, being hand in glove
with 'em, and likely to be a master yourself,' grumbled Sam Shuck, a
touch of irony in his tone.
'I should stand up for whichever side I deemed in the right, whether it
was the masters' or the men's,' was the emphatic answer. 'Is it well--is
it in accordance with the fitness of things, that a master should be
under the control of his men? Come! I ask it of your common sense.'
'No.' It was readily acknowledged.
'Those Manchester masters and those Manchester operatives were upon a
par as regards shame and blame.'
'Sir! Shame and blame?'
'They were upon a par as regards shame and blame,' was the decisive
repetition; 'and I make no doubt that both equally deemed themselves to
have been so, when they found their senses. The masters came to them:
the men were brought to theirs.'
'You speak strongly, sir.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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