A Memoir of Robert Blincoe, an Orphan Boy: Sent from the workhouse of St. Pancras, London, at seven years of age, to endure the horrors of a cotton-mill, through his infancy and youth, with a minute detail of his sufferings, being the first memoir of the kind published. — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
A Memoir of Robert Blincoe, an Orphan Boy: Sent from the workhouse of St. Pancras, London, at seven years of age, to endure the horrors of a cotton-mill, through his infancy and youth, with a minute detail of his sufferings, being the first memoir of the kind published.
John Stuart Mill · en
cruelty and oppression developed during the progress of that Bill,
which Blincoe never heard of, nor ever saw, till eleven or twelve years
after it had passed into a law. It would be difficult to produce a more
striking instance of the utter contempt, in which the upstart owners of
great establishments treated an act, purposely enacted to restrain their
unparalled cruelty and waste of human life. The act itself declared the
masters, owners, or occupiers of every cotton-mill in Great Britain and
Wales should have a legible copy of the act, placed in some conspicuous
and public part of each mill, and accessible to every one; yet, Blincoe,
who was reared in the cotton-mill, never saw or heard of any such law,
till eleven or twelve years after it had been enacted! When the committee
began their investigation, as to the treatment and condition of the
children sent from St. Pancras Workhouse, Blincoe was called up among
others and admonished to speak the truth and nothing but the truth! So
great however was the terror of the stick and strap, being applied to
their persons, after these great dons should be at a great distance, it
rendered him, and no doubt the great majority of his fellow sufferers
extremely cautious and timid. It is however, likely, that their looks
bespoke their sufferings, and told a tale not to be misunderstood. The
visitors saw their food, dress, bedding, and they caused, in conjunction
with the local magistrate, very great alterations to be made. A new
house was ordered to be erected near the mill, for the use of the
apprentices, in which there were fewer beds to a given space. The
quantity of good and wholesome animal food to be dressed and distributed
in a more decent way, was specified. A much more cleanly and decorous
mode of cookery and serving up the dinner and other meals was ordered.
The apprentices were divided into six classes, and a new set of tin
cans, numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6, were made, to be served up to each
individual, according to the class to which he or she may belong, to hold
the soup or porridge! The old governor was discharged, who had given them
all such a fright on their first arrival, and several of the overlookers
were dismissed and new ones introduced;—among the latter description
of persons was a man, who seemed wholly destitute of humanity—his name
was William Woodward—born, I believe, at Cromford, in Derbyshire. The
appearance of this ferocious tyrant at Lowdham Mill proved a much heavier
curse, scourge and affliction to Blincoe, than all the grievances which
had existed, or were removed! As Woodward’s amusement, in tormenting
these poor apprentices, will occupy a large space in the next chapter, I
shall say little of him in this.
It was the ill fortune of Blincoe and his associates, that, shortly after
the reforms specified were introduced, and the hours of labour reduced,
so that their situation became every way incomparably more eligible,
Lowdam Mill stopped working.