The Day of Tribulation

It is with melancholy recollections I pen this chapter; and were it possible to give a faithful history of my life, leaving out all mention of what is narrated herein, I would do so. But I cannot. Now, in cold blood, and at an age better competent to form an opinion, it is possible I do not entertain the same notion of the occurrences I am going to relate that I did at the time they took place. However, it is in their original aspect I must try to describe them.

Red Fields was one of the principal works of the neighbourhood in which I was brought up, and gave employment— reckoning the boys—to some hundreds of people. If I remember rightly, the owners were English to a man. At one time “all things under the earth” were managed by a simple, honest Welshman, named Abraham Jones, a deacon with the Congregationalists. He was a cool, strong-minded man, possessing great influence with those under him. Whatever dispute arose amongst them, it only wanted Abraham Jones to arbitrate, and everything was settled at once. The secret of his influence lay in his special aptitude for perceiving the location of the mischief, and the entire confidence everybody had in his honesty and his religious character. He proved himself, at all times, a sincere friend of the workman, knowing well what it was to have been a workman himself. With him it was a matter of conscience to keep his eyes open to the welfare of the employers who paid him his salary; but that did not prevent him from bearing constantly in mind the comfort and the safety of the men who’ he saw every day toiling and sweating in the midst of danger. He was considered one of the most expert practical colliers in the country, and, during his management, everything went on smoothly and without any hitch or disturbance worth the mention.

He laboured under one great disadvantage in his connection with his chiefs: his English was so imperfect that, in consultation with them, it appeared at times as if he were not perfectly straightforward in his story. And he vexed himself greatly on that account. He had lately got to notice that one or two of the directors deligted in putting him through a course of minutest interrogatory with reference to the work; and although he had nothing to fear in that direction, the difficulty he felt in explaining himself often placed him, he thought, in a rather unpleasant position. So sorely tortured had he been by these cross-examinations that he felt neither disappointed nor grieved when, one day, at a meeting of directors, he was told it was best he should leave, they having found an Englishman likely to do the duties better, and also to be able to give a completer account of the state of the colliery. The words appeared to remove a great burden from his mind. In his jerky way he blurted out, with a breast which swelled a little as he spoke:—“Gentlemen, I am very pleased indeed to hear what you say. If he whom you speak of can keep the work going, as smoothly and peaceably, in the interests both of masters and men for six months, as I have done for six years, then indeed he must be a very clever man.” He thereupon took up his hat, made a polite bow, and went out. He often used to say afterwards that he believed he got help from above to speak English when taking leave of his employers. On his return to work, and communicating the news to the men, there were mourning and tribulation not a little. Here and there a collier would have given vent to his feelings in language which was not altogether parliamentary. But in Abraham Jones’s presence all such words had to be gulped back again after they had ascended to the lips, the effort to do so bringing tears to the eyes, which, trickling down the cheeks, left a clean white streak on each black face, to show how pure was the feeling which had produced them. It was hinted and pretty plainly spoken by the men that it was no want of ability or of faithful service, on Abraham Jones’s part, which caused the directors to invite him to resign, but the anxiety of some of them to find a place for a hard-up friend. Whether right or wrong, this belief prejudiced the men against the new manager long before they set eyes on him, And his appearance and acquaintance, so far from lessening, deepened their dislike towards Mr. Strangle, for that was the gentleman’s name. He was a middle-aged personage, fat-paunched and blustering, who carried in his own person, all the roughness, the slovenliness and ignorance of his tribe at Wigan. His speech was coarse and uncouth, even the uneducated smiling to hear him say “Ah” for ‘yes,’ and “mun” for “must.” His speech, however, was but a trifling drawback compared to his insufferable self-importance and inconsiderate behaviour towards everybody about him. He was nicknamed “Bulldog,” on the very first day he came to work, and really, on recalling his squab nose and wide jaw, I fancy that, had he chosen to claim it, no one would be found to deny his relationship with the species, except, perhaps, on the ground of his pretensions. If he were taken at his own word, he knew everything knowable, and never in his life made a mistake. To be brief, Mr. Strangle was a whole colliery in himself—main coal, haulier, bye-man, cutter, shelterer, shaft, chimney-stack, engine-house, boiler and all, especially the last. But Bob would say—and, of course, I believed everything he said must be right—that Abraham Jones’s old flannel jacket was much more capable of managing the Red Fields works than was Mr. Strangle. The antagonism of the men was rivalled only by his own hatred of Wales and the Welsh. He delighted in snubbing the people, and in doing everything connected with the colliery in a fashion directly contrary to Abraham Jones’s. The result was that he speedily drew the work about his ears, as the saying goes, and some hundreds of pounds worth of fresh timber had to be used to keep the place together. To sum up, because it would take me a long time to tell the whole story, the state of things got, at lust, to be so bad that the tradesmen of the town, and the neighbourhood generally, went in daily fear of a strike at the Red Fields Colliery.

This was the state of affairs when that Colliers’ Meeting was held, which I referred to in the previous chapter, and at which my brother Bob had made, what I considered to be, such a capital speech. Next day, whilst mother and a neighbour were conversing about the meeting, I got to know why she had been so much moved by my account of Bob’s public utterances. It was from a fear that Bob would get himself into trouble. It was worth suffering a little hardship, she said, for the sake of peace. On the other hand, the neighbour thought it high time someone should speak up—the men’s earnings were so small that it was impossible to maintain a family upon them. She had, however, warned her husband not to say a word, nor to make himself, in any way, conspicuous in the agitation. Mother made answer something to this effect:—

“So, Margaret Peters, you are anxious our Bob and others should do all the fighting, while your husband, Humphrey, and everybody belonging to you, like Dan of old, ‘remain in ships,’ and come in for a share of the spoil when the battle is ended. There is many a Dan in our days, as Mr. Davies of Nerquis, used to say.”

Margaret did not know enough Scripture to understand the comparison, but she could see right well it contained a blow aimed at her, so she turned the conversation to something else.

How speedily were my mother’s fears verified! I When Bob came home from work that night he appeared unusually serious and thoughtful. After he had washed and taken food, my mother said to him, “Bob, I know by your looks you have some bad news. Have you had notice?”

“Yes,” replied Bob. “Morris Hughes, James Williams, John Powell and myself, are to leave the work next Saturday.”

“Well, and what are we to do now?” asked mother.

“Do our duty, mother, and trust in Providence,” said Bob.

“Yes, my boy; but do you consider that you have done your duty? I gave you many warnings, didn’t I, not to take so prominent a part in this business. [Mother’s observation as to “Dan in ships” recurred to me.] I know very well you workmen have cause to complain, and that it is a shame for a mere Saxon to come around the country and take the place of & pious man like Abraham Jones, with whom there never was any bother. You are but young, however; and why did’nt you let some one like Edward Morgan go talking and messing in this matter—a man who has a house of his own, and a pig? It wouldn’t have made much odds to Edward if he got notice. But I may just as well shut up now. It is too late to lock the stable door after the horse has been stolen. The question is, what’ll become of us?”

“Mother,” replied Bob earnestly, “it was not thus you taught me. Do your duty, and leave the consequences to God,’ was one of your first lessons, and I intend to act upon it as long as I have breath, not only because it was from you I learned it, but also because I believe it to be a sound one. The notice is no more than I expected. The few must suffer before good can come to the many, and if I and others are made scapegoats for the three hundred who work at Red Fields, if we are the means of bringing about their liberty and their benefit, all well and good. I have never spoken a single word beyond what everybody in the work believes and feels to be true, although others have shrunk from uttering it in public. As I have said, someone must suffer for the many; it is the great principle of God’s government. Either the comfort or the life of one animal is sacrificed continually to keep other animals alive. As Caiaphas said, ‘It is expedient that one man should die for the people, and that the whole nation perish not.’ The principle of the Sacrifice on the Cross is practised daily on a small scale, and”

“Stop your nonsense,’ commanded mother sharply. ‘I won’t listen to you talking in such a fashion. Has your head gone wrong, or what? Do you wish to compare the Death on the Cross with your notice to leave the work, or anything else on this blessed earth? Do you mean to tell me there is anything in that to resemble the sufferings of the Saviour? If you do, you’d better pack off to the ’Sylum as soon as you can.”

“Gently, mother,” said Bob. “I need not tell you, who are so well acquainted with the Acts of the Apostles, that I am not the first who has been accused of madness on account of his zeal. To allay your fears on this head, understand that I mean to compare nothing to the Sacrifice on the Cross, either for magnitude or intent, but solely for principle. If there is no comparison between the finite and the infinite, there is an analogy, and it is of the analogy I am speaking.”

“Come, come,” replied mother, “don’t you go throwing your big words at me. Keep within the Scripture, and I’ll follow you wherever you like; but none of your fine words, if you please. I’m sure ‘analogy’ is not a Bible word, and, as far as I remember, it is not ir, Mr. Charles’ Instructor, either.”

“I know, mother,” observed Bob, “that you have not read Butler’s Analogy a

“Butler?” interrupted mother. “Don’t talk of your butler to me! A pagan like him, who never goes to any place of worship but the Church, and who doesn’t know anything but how to carry wine to his master. What do you mean by reading the butler?”

This was too much for Bob, who laughed outright, which annoyed my mother so much that he hastened to explain.

“It was not the Hall butler,” he said, “but Bishop Butler I was thinking of, a great and good man. And this is what I was about to say, had you let me alone—a sacrifice is a covenant of life, blessing, and profit. Before it was possible for sinners to find life, it was necessary that the Son of God should sacrifice himself. [‘There, now you’re talking sense,’ muttered mother to herself.] Before that life could be brought to men it was necessary that the apostles and a host of other of the world’s best men, should suffer much, even to the laying down of their lives. And something of the same kind still takes place every day, only with this difference—that the least are sacrificed for the sake of the greatest. The cow, the sheep, the pig, and a host of other creatures, lose their lives so that you and I may preserve ours. And so in every state of being of which we have any knowledge. ‘The like rule prevails in society. In fighting for the right, and against oppression, some of the heroes in the strife are sure of being trampled under foot and hurt by the tyrant, aye, even when he is in retreat. Some one must fight the battle of the Red Fields workmen before they are rid of their tyranny, and if I and my associates fall while sounding the battle-trumpet, let it be so; the call to arms has gone forth, we have justice on our side, and others, even though we do not, will reap the rich fruits of the victory which is bound to follow. With a little wisdom and determination, I do not doubt but that things will wear another face at Red Fields before many months are over. All I fear is that the men will use unlawful means to attain their object. Many of them are utterly devoid of judgment, and are governed entirely by their hasty tempers. These, unless they have a wise man to lead them, will do more harm to the cause than can easily be imagined. But perhaps they will behave better than I anticipate.”

Either my mother paid no heed to what he had said, or was unable to answer Bob.

“Pray more, and talk less, my son, ” was the only remark she made in reply.

The notice given my brother and the other men named excited a deal of adverse comment at the colliery and neighbourhood, and the following Saturday was looked forward to with the most serious concern. Some feared a disturbance amongst the workmen if the notice were allowed to take effect; others fancied the masters had merely adopted a ruse in order to frighten the men into silence, and that Mr. Strangle would never dare to turn away the best and steadiest hands in the colliery, unless he wanted to get himself into hot water.

Saturday came, and Will Bryan, I, and other youths, went to the pit’s bank about the time the men were expected to come up, in order to see what would happen. Presently a couple of police officers came there, seemingly on the same errand. They were English, both. Almost directly afterwards, the workmen began to ascend, a cage-load at a time, each contingent making straight towards the office for their pay; only, instead of going off home, as usual, after receiving their money, they settled down upon their heels, in scattered groups, all over the bank. Whether it was from accident or design, I know not, but Bob and his associates under notice formed the last load. No sooner did they make their appearance above the pit’s mouth, with picks tied up together, than, like a great goblin-host, the men upon the bank sprang to their feet. Black face and ugly attire notwithstanding, many were the warm and honest hearts in the crowd, through which there ran a murmur. Bob and his companions went to the office, their coming out being awaited in anxious silence. They had not to wait long. Wholly unconcerned, apparently, the friends hoisted their picks upon their shoulders, a sure sign that their notice had been insisted on. They were immediately surrounded by their fellow-workmen, each inquiring of the other whether they had been paid off. Morris Hughes desired Bob to speak. He did so as follows—and I, who yield to no man living in correctly relating what I myself have heard (for if I am vain of anything, it is of my memory), bear most solemn witness that he never said a single word beyond those which I now reproduce:—

“My dear fellow-workmen,” Bob began. ‘I and my associates have been paid off. We bid a last farewell to Red Fields, and turn our faces elsewhere to look for employment.”

Before he could say any more some of the men began execrating the management, whereupon the two police officers interposed, with a request that they should go off quietly home. Both were unceremoniously thrust aside, and Bob was asked, with a shout, to go on. He accordingly proceeded:—

“We leave you with an easy conscience. We have done nothing wrong, and we trust no one will condemn us for publicly repeating the conviction we held in private, that we were unfairly and unjustly treated. You must now fight for your rights without help from us; but wherever we go to, your welfare and your success will always lie near to our hearts. I am not unconscious of the fact that there are before me scores of men older, wiser, and more experienced, than I; but permit me to give you a word of advice. Take care not to do anything of which you may be ashamed hereafter. Be led by the wisest of your number, and, in battling for your rights, do so as men endowed with reason, who are to be called to account hereafter for all your actions. I think, and my friends here agree with me, that your best plan will be to lay your complaints before the directors in person. In Abraham Jones’s time, if there was anything for which we wanted a remedy, all we had to do was to place the matter before him, and it would be sure of careful consideration. But I fear it would be useless for you to appeal to Mr. Strangle, because a

Unfortunately, while Mr. Strangle’s name was on Bob’s lips, that individual came out of the office, and looked frowningly at the crowd. No sooner did he make his appearance than scores of throats opened out upon him, like a pack of hounds in full cry. A fierce rush was made towards him, and he was carried along the road leading to the railway station like a straw before the whirlwind. The two officers, with incredible pluck, endeavoured to protect and to rescue him from the clutches of the infuriated colliers; and so did Bob and others. But no sooner was he liberated from one swarm than another was down upon him, One of the peace officers, thinking—honestly so, no doubt—that Bob was the ringleader, drew his staff and struck him over the temple, felling him to the ground. Better had the blow never been given, for next moment both officers were stretched senseless by the roadside and Mr. Strangle was being hurried away with a speed which must have been exceedingly uncomfortable for so corpulent a man. I thought Bob had been killed, for he lay, to all appearance, quite dead upon the ground, with no one but Morris Hughes and myself to look after him. I cannot describe either my grief on thinking him dead, or my joy when, a few minutes later, he came to himself, and sprang to his feet.

“Morris!” he cried. ‘All our efforts have been in vain. These madmen have ruined the cause. We must prevent this, if it be not too late.”

Both, followed by myself, hurried after the crowd. The effects of the blow were such that it was with difficulty Bob could keep up the pace, and when he took hold of Morris Hughes’s arm—the latter being a young, powerful fellow—I saw his legs were giving way under him. Nearing the station we found that the crowd had doubled in numbers.

“Thank Heaven,” cried Bob, “the train has not yet come in, and we may still be in time to stop the fools from sending Mr. Strangle away.”

We put a best foot foremost, but we were within barely three hundred yards of the platform when we heard the workmen give a loud cheer.

“Too late!” said Morris Hughes, “if it’s any odds.”

“Odds?” cried Bob, slackening his pace. “I should rather think it was. We shall lose the sympathy of the country, we shall be looked upon as savages, some of these lunatics will be sent to prison, and punished for their folly. Everything is now spoiled, and I’m sorry from my heart I ever meddled with the business.” And he burst out crying like a child.

The steam-engine whistled, loud and shrill, and the air was rent with demoniac shouts. The disorderly rabble next made a rush for the town. When they came to the spot where Morris Hughes and Bob were, they wanted, at any cost, to take my brother upon their shoulders and exhibit him as their hero. But Morris’s strong arm restrained them.

“My friend can’t stand it,” he declared. “But if you choose to listen, it may be that he has a word to say to you.”

The mob having signified its readiness, Bob ascended to the top of a hedge, and, leaning upon Morris Hughes’s broad back for support, said:—

“(My friends, ever since the beginning of this agitation for the advancement of your wages and the better governance of the Red Fields pit, I have taken a public part in it, and done my best to bring about an improvement in your circumstances. You know as well as I do that two or three of us, had we chosen to truckle to the masters, might have made ourselves a comfortable nest here. But then, you would not have been an atom the better off. After what has just taken place, I must tell you, even at the risk of being treated as you have treated Mr. Strangle, that I am ashamed of ever having had anything to do with you.”

Bob was too much overcome to say any more, and the crowd separated, some swearing, others grumbling, others silent and thoughtful. It is but fair to state that there were amongst the unruly multitude who whisked Mr. Strangle off to the station and bought a ticket for him, scores of workmen who disapproved of the foolish act, but who were powerless to prevent it. Before my brother and I could reach home, mother had been informed of the whole affair, with additions, and we found her waiting us in deep agitation. However, she was mollified a good deal when Bob assured her that he had done his best to prevent Mr. Strangle’s compulsory departure. At the same time, I could not fail to note signs of fear and uneasiness on the faces of both. Bob, who did not leave the house that night, was visited by three of the friends who had been paid off like himself, who spent some hours in discussing with him the probable consequence of the day’s foolhardiness, Though mother said nothing, I could see that she had a presentiment of some coming evil. Bob’s companion’s having left, but little talk took place in our house that night. My brother pretended to read, but I noticed he did not turn the leaves of his book, and knew very well he did not give a thought to anything it contained.

Late at night, as we were about to retire, we heard footsteps approaching the house. Next minute a knock came to the door, and, before we had time to open, two officers of police came in. Mother’s face grew pale, and I began to cry my loudest. Bob ordered me to desist, but it was with difficulty I could master my feelings. Bob, perfectly self-possessed, invited the officers to take a seat, which they did. Although never much in love with either of them, I must admit that they were a couple of very civil men, and that both considered their duty that night an unpleasant one. I was glad they were Welsh, because mother, in that case, could understand all they said.

“I think,” observed Bob quietly, “that I know your errand.”

“Well,” said Sergeant Williams, looking towards my mother, ‘it is a disagreeable errand enough, Robert Lewis, we must say. But I hope all will come off right on Monday. Mrs. Lewis,’ he went on, handing Bob the warrant to read, in order to spare my mother’s feelings, “don’t be frightened, it is only a matter of form. We must do our duty, you know, and, as I have said, I hope everything will turn out right on Monday.”

Mother said nothing, but the twitching of her mouth, and the lump in her throat, showed clearly the state of her feelings. Bob drew his boots on leisurely, and with the parting word, “Mother you know where to turn; my conscience is at ease,” walked away with the officers. They had hardly gone twenty yards from the house, when I heard high words and a struggle. Despite my mother’s efforts to restrain me, I ran out, and saw a desperate encounter going on between the officers and two strange men. One, a tall powerful fellow, knocked the constables about unmercifully. The other was but of middling size, but a perfect master of the work he had on hand, I had no difficulty in recognising the latter. It was the man who stopped me on my way home the night Seth died, and whom I had christened “the Irishman.” I could not tell who the other was, but I thought he resembled Bob in build and gait, only he was older and stronger. Their intention, as far as I could make out, was to give Bob a chance of escape, but when they saw he did not avail himself of it, but, on the contrary, assisted the officers, both took to their heels. On my return to the house, and apprising mother of what I had seen, she got up and locked the door.

Neither of us went to bed. Much as I tried to repress my feelings, for mother’s sake, and much as she tried to hide her trouble for mine, we were both repeatedly overcome by fits of crying in the course of the night. The morning broke—a lovely Sabbath morning. I saw the people, as they went by to their different places of worship, eyeing our cottage askance. Mother and I never once crossed the threshold, and I heard her repeatedly murmur something about “The day of Tribulation!” I” We ate but little. The day seemed as long as a week. Mother opened our big old Bible dozens of times, but, as soon as she began to read, her eyes overflowed, and she would fix them abstractedly in one long gaze on the same spot. I saw the people going home from morning service, but no one called. I saw them again going to Sunday School, and returning from it, but no one turned into our house. I felt sure some of our chapel folk would come to inquire for us after evening service; but no one came. In mother’s words, “Nobody darkened her door throughout the whole of the day.” We were anxious that someone should call, because we did not know how many had been taken to the lock-up, and mother feared lest Bob had been the only one. The clock struck nine and mother said it was best we should both go to bed and endeavour to get a little rest. But at this moment someone knocked at the door, and I, jumping up eagerly to open it, found—two deacons? No, but Thomas and Barbara Bartley, who told us they could not retire to rest without coming to see how mother got on in her trouble. Two visitors more unlike my mother in character and disposition it would have been almost impossible to imagine; and yet we were heartily glad to see them. It gave us an opportunity of pouring forth the grief which had been storing itself up within us for four and twenty hours. Thomas and Barbara had been to the Crown, where they were given full particulars of the business. They stayed with us for several hours. Recalling the confabulation, I think it was one of the strangest and most amusing I ever heard, although it did not appear so then. And if it were not that this chapter is already too long, and that what I am going to relate in the following chapter weighs so heavily on my mind, I would record all that took place. The visit was a great relief to us, and mother and I were able to sleep that night without much thought that still bitterer things were in store.