Sybil, or the Two Nations Part 14

"Where they clean machinery during meal-time; that won't do," said Mick.

"I see one of your partners coming in," said Mick, making many signals to a person who very soon joined them. "Well, Devilsdust, how are you?"

This was the familiar appellation of a young gentleman, who really had no other, baptismal or patrimonial. About a fortnight after his mother had introduced him into the world, she returned to her factory and put her infant out to nurse, that is to say, paid threepence a week to an old woman who takes charge of these new-born babes for the day, and gives them back at night to their mothers as they hurriedly return from the scene of their labour to the dungeon or the den, which is still by courtesy called "home." The expense is not great: laudanum and treacle, administered in the shape of some popular elixir, affords these innocents a brief taste of the sweets of existence, and keeping them quiet, prepares them for the silence of their impending grave.

Infanticide is practised as extensively and as legally in England, as it is on the banks of the Ganges; a circ.u.mstance which apparently has not yet engaged the attention of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts. But the vital principle is an impulse from an immortal artist, and sometimes baffles, even in its tenderest phasis, the machinations of society for its extinction. There are infants that will defy even starvation and poison, unnatural mothers and demon nurses. Such was the nameless one of whom we speak. We cannot say he thrived; but he would not die. So at two years of age, his mother being lost sight of, and the weekly payment having ceased, he was sent out in the street to "play," in order to be run over. Even this expedient failed. The youngest and the feeblest of the band of victims, Juggernaut spared him to Moloch. All his companions were disposed of. Three months' "play" in the streets got rid of this tender company,--shoeless, half-naked, and uncombed,--whose age varied from two to five years. Some were crushed, some were lost, some caught cold and fevers, crept back to their garret or their cellars, were dosed with G.o.dfrey's cordial, and died in peace. The nameless one would not disappear. He always got out of the way of the carts and horses, and never lost his own. They gave him no food: he foraged for himself, and shared with the dogs the garbage of the streets. But still he lived; stunted and pale, he defied even the fatal fever which was the only habitant of his cellar that never quitted it. And slumbering at night on a bed of mouldering straw, his only protection against the plashy surface of his den, with a dungheap at his head and a cesspool at his feet, he still clung to the only roof which shielded him from the tempest.

At length when the nameless one had completed his fifth year, the pest which never quitted the nest of cellars of which he was a citizen, raged in the quarter with such intensity, that the extinction of its swarming population was menaced. The haunt of this child was peculiarly visited.

All the children gradually sickened except himself; and one night when he returned home he found the old woman herself dead, and surrounded only by corpses. The child before this had slept on the same bed of straw with a corpse, but then there were also breathing beings for his companions. A night pa.s.sed only with corpses seemed to him in itself a kind of death. He stole out of the cellar, quitted the quarter of pestilence, and after much wandering laid down near the door of a factory. Fortune had guided him. Soon after break of day, he was woke by the sound of the factory bell, and found a.s.sembled a crowd of men, women, and children. The door opened, they entered, the child accompanied them. The roll was called; his unauthorized appearance noticed; he was questioned; his acuteness excited attention. A child was wanted in the Wadding Hole, a place for the manufacture of waste and damaged cotton, the refuse of the mills, which is here worked up into counterpanes and coverlids. The nameless one was prefered to the vacant post, received even a salary, more than that, a name; for as he had none, he was christened on the spot--DEVILSDUST.

Devilsdust had entered life so early that at seventeen he combined the experience of manhood with the divine energy of youth. He was a first-rate workman and received high wages; he had availed himself of the advantages of the factory school; he soon learnt to read and write with facility, and at the moment of our history, was the leading spirit of the Shoddy-Court Literary and Scientific Inst.i.tute. His great friend, his only intimate, was Dandy Mick. The apparent contrariety of their qualities and structure perhaps led to this. It is indeed the most a.s.sured basis of friendship. Devilsdust was dark and melancholy; ambitious and discontented; full of thought, and with powers of patience and perseverance that alone amounted to genius. Mick was as brilliant as his complexion; gay, irritable, evanescent, and unstable. Mick enjoyed life; his friend only endured it; yet Mick was always complaining of the lowness of his wages and the greatness of his toil; while Devilsdust never murmured, but read and pondered on the rights of labour, and sighed to vindicate his order.

"I have some thoughts of joining the Total Abstinence," said Devilsdust; "ever since I read Stephen Morley's address it has been in my mind.

We shall never get our rights till we leave off consuming exciseable articles; and the best thing to begin with is liquors."

"Well, I could do without liquors myself," said Caroline. "If I was a lady, I would never drink anything except fresh milk from the cow."

"Tea for my money," said Harriet; "I must say there's nothing I grudge for good tea. Now I keep house, I mean always to drink the best."

"Well, you have not yet taken the pledge, Dusty," said Mick: "and so suppose we order a go of gin and talk this matter of temperance over."

Devilsdust was manageable in little things, especially by Mick; he acceded, and seated himself at their table.

"I suppose you have heard this last dodge of Shuffle and Screw, Dusty,"

said Mick.

"What's that?"

"Every man had his key given him this evening--half-a-crown a week round deducted from wages for rent. Jim Plastow told them he lodged with his father and didn't want a house; upon which they said he must let it."

"Their day will come," said Devilsdust, thoughtfully. "I really think that those Shuffle and Screws are worse even than Truck and Trett. You knew where you were with those fellows; it was five-and-twenty per cent, off wages and very bad stuff for your money. But as for Shuffle and Screw, what with their fines and their keys, a man never knows what he has to spend. Come," he added filling his gla.s.s, "let's have a toast--Confusion to Capital."

"That's your sort," said Mick. "Come, Caroline; drink to your partner's toast, Miss Harriet. Money's the root of all evil, which n.o.body can deny. We'll have the rights of labour yet; the ten-hour bill, no fines, and no individuals admitted to any work who have not completed their sixteenth year."

"No, fifteen," said Caroline eagerly.

"The people won't bear their grievances much longer," said Devilsdust.

"I think one of the greatest grievances the people have," said Caroline, "is the beaks serving notice on Chaffing Jack to shut up the Temple on Sunday nights."

"It is infamous," said Mick; "aynt we to have no recreation? One might as well live in Suffolk, where the immigrants come from, and where they are obliged to burn ricks to pa.s.s the time."

"As for the rights of labour," said Harriet, "the people goes for nothing with this machinery."

"And you have opened your mouth to say a very sensible thing Miss Harriet," said Mick; "but if I were Lord Paramount for eight-and-forty hours, I'd soon settle that question. Wouldn't I fire a broadside into their 'double deckers?' The battle of Navarino at Mowbray fair with fourteen squibs from the admiral's ship going off at the same time, should be nothing to it."

"Labour may be weak, but Capital is weaker," said Devilsdust. "Their capital is all paper."

"I tell you what," said Mick, with a knowing look, and in a lowered tone, "The only thing, my hearties, that can save this here nation, is--a--good strike."

Book 2 Chapter 11

"Your lordship's dinner is served," announced the groom of the chambers to Lord de Mowbray; and the n.o.ble lord led out Lady Marney. The rest followed. Egremont found himself seated next to Lady Maud Fitz-Warene, the younger daughter of the earl. Nearly opposite to him was Lady Joan.

The ladies Fitz-Warene were sandy girls, somewhat tall, with rather good figures and a grand air; the eldest very ugly, the second rather pretty; and yet both very much alike. They had both great conversational powers, though in different ways. Lady Joan was doctrinal; Lady Maud inquisitive: the first often imparted information which you did not previously possess; the other suggested ideas which were often before in your own mind, but lay tranquil and un.o.bserved, till called into life and notice by her fanciful and vivacious tongue. Both of them were endowed with a very remarkable self-possession; but Lady Joan wanted softness, and Lady Maud repose.

This was the result of the rapid observation of Egremont, who was however experienced in the world and quick in his detection of manner and of character.

The dinner was stately, as becomes the high n.o.bility. There were many guests, yet the table seemed only a gorgeous spot in the capacious chamber. The side tables were laden with silver vases and golden shields arranged on shelves of crimson velvet. The walls were covered with Fitz-Warenes, De Mowbrays, and De Veres. The attendants glided about without noise, and with the precision of military discipline. They watched your wants, they antic.i.p.ated your wishes, and they supplied all you desired with a lofty air of pompous devotion.

"You came by the railroad?" enquired Lord de Mowbray mournfully, of Lady Marney.

"From Marham; about ten miles from us," replied her ladyship.

"A great revolution!"

"Isn't it?"

"I fear it has a very dangerous tendency to equality," said his lordship shaking his head; "I suppose Lord Marney gives them all the opposition in his power."

"There is n.o.body so violent against railroads as George," said Lady Marney; "I cannot tell you what he does not do! He organized the whole of our division against the Marham line!"

"I rather counted on him," said Lord de Mowbray, "to a.s.sist me in resisting this joint branch here; but I was surprised to learn he had consented."

"Not until the compensation was settled," innocently remarked Lady Marney; "George never opposes them after that. He gave up all opposition to the Marham line when they agreed to his terms."

"And yet," said Lord de Mowbray, "I think if Lord Marney would take a different view of the case and look to the moral consequences, he would hesitate. Equality, Lady Marney, equality is not our metier. If we n.o.bles do not make a stand against the levelling spirit of the age, I am at a loss to know who will fight the battle. You many depend upon it that these railroads are very dangerous things."

"I have no doubt of it. I suppose you have heard of Lady Vanilla's trip from Birmingham? Have you not, indeed! She came up with Lady Laura, and two of the most gentlemanlike men sitting opposite her; never met, she says, two more intelligent men. She begged one of them at Wolverhampton to change seats with her, and he was most politely willing to comply with her wishes, only it was necessary that his companion should move at the same time, for they were chained together! Two of the swell mob, sent to town for picking a pocket at Shrewsbury races."

"A countess and a felon! So much for public conveyances," said Lord Mowbray. "But Lady Vanilla is one of those who will talk with everybody."

"She is very amusing though," said Lady Marney.

"I dare say she is," said Lord de Mowbray; "but believe me, my dear Lady Marney, in these times especially, a countess has something else to do than be amusing."

"You think as property has its duties as well as its rights, rank has its bores as well as its pleasures."

Lord Mowbray mused.

"How do you do, Mr Jermyn?" said a lively little lady with sparkling beady black eyes, and a very yellow complexion, though with good features; "when did you arrive in the North? I have been fighting your battles finely since I saw you," she added shaking her head, rather with an expression of admonition than of sympathy.

"You are always fighting one's battles Lady Firebrace; it is very kind of you. If it were not for you, we should none of us know how much we are all abused," replied Mr Jermyn, a young M.P.

"They say you gave the most radical pledges," said Lady Firebrace eagerly, and not without malice. "I heard Lord Muddlebrains say that if he had had the least idea of your principles, you would not have had his influence."