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
Amongst the most singular punishments inflicted upon Blincoe, was that of
screwing small hand-vices of a pound weight, more or less, to his nose
and ears, one to each part; and these have been kept on, as he worked,
for hours together! This was principally done by Robert Woodward, Merrick
and Charnock. Of these petty despots, Merrick was the most unpardonable,
as he had been a parish apprentice himself, and ought to have had more
compassion. This Merrick was a stretcher, and Blincoe when about 11 or 12
years old, used to stretch for him, while he, Merrick, ate his dinner.
Out of kindness, or because he could not eat it himself, Merrick used
occasionally to leave a small part of his allowance, and tell Blincoe to
go and eat it. On Mondays, it was the custom to give the boys bread and
treacle, and turnip _broth_ made the day before, which generally stunk
to such a degree, that most of the poor creatures could only pick out
the oat bread, the broth being loathsome. Whenever Merrick left a bit
of bread and treacle in the window, Blincoe used to run eagerly at the
prize, and devour it voraciously. On Monday, this overlooker, who was a
most inhuman task-master, sent Blincoe down to the card-room for a basket
of rovings, a descent of four or five stories deep, for this burthen of
considerable weight. During the time he was gone, Merrick rubbed tar upon
the oat cake, and laid it in the window as usual. When Blincoe returned,
the brute said, “go and eat what lies in the window.” Blincoe seeing as
he supposed, so much treacle upon the bread, was surprised; for Merrick
usually licked it clean off, and to his bitter mortification, found,
instead of treacle, it was TAR. Unable to endure the nauseous mouthful,
Blincoe spat it out, whilst Merrick, laughing at him, said, “What the
devil are you spitting it out for.” Poor Blincoe, shaking his head, said,
“You know, mon,” and Blincoe left the remainder of the tarred cake in the
window, when his comrade, Bill Fletcher, a poor lad since dead, who came
from Peak Forest, took up the bread, and scraping off the tar as clean as
he could, ate it up, apparently with a good appetite! To such dreadful
straits were they driven by hunger, the apprentices have been known to
_pick turnips out of the necessary_, which others, who had stolen them,
had thrown there to conceal, and washing them, have devoured the whole,
thinking it too extravagant even to waste the peeling.