It was Monday morning. Hatton, enveloped in his chamber robe
and wearing his velvet cap, was lounging in the best room of
the principal commercial inn of Mowbray, over a breakfast
table covered with all the delicacies of which a northern
matin meal may justly boast. There were pies of spiced meat
and trout fresh from the stream, hams that Westphalia never
equalled, pyramids of bread of every form and flavour adapted
to the surrounding fruits, some conserved with curious art, and some just gathered from the bed or from the tree.
"It's very odd," said Hatton to his companion Morley, "you
can't get coffee anywhere."
Morley who had supposed that coffee was about the commonest
article of consumption in Mowbray, looked a little surprised; but at this moment Hatton's servant entered with a mysterious yet somewhat triumphant air, and ushering in a travelling biggin of their own fuming like one of the springs of Geyser.
"Now try that," said Hatton to Morley, as the servant poured
him out a cup; "you won't find that so bad."
"Does the town continue pretty quiet?" enquired Morley of the
servant as he was leaving the room.
"Quite quiet I believe, Sir; but a great many people in the
streets. All the mills are stopped."
"Well, this is a strange business," said Hatton when they were
once more alone. "You had no idea of it when I met you on
Saturday?"
"None; on the contrary, I felt convinced that there were no
elements of general disturbance in this district. I thought
from the first that the movement would be confined to
Lancashire and would easily be arrested; but the feebleness of
the government, the want of decision, perhaps the want of
means, have permitted a flame to spread the extinction of
which will not soon be witnessed."
"Do you mean that?"
"Whenever the mining population is disturbed the disorder is
obstinate. On the whole they endure less physical suffering
than most of the working classes, their wages being
considerable; and they are so brutalized that they are more
difficult to operate on than our reading and thinking
population of the factories. But when they do stir there is
always violence and a determined course. When I heard of
their insurrection on Saturday I was prepared for great
disturbances in their district, but that they should suddenly
resolve to invade another country as it were, the seat of
another class of labour, and where the hardships however
severe are not of their own kind, is to me amazing, and
convinces me that there is some political head behind the
scenes, and that this move, however unintentional on the part
of the miners themselves, is part of some comprehensive scheme
which, by widening the scene of action and combining several
counties and classes of labour in the broil, must inevitably
embarrass and perhaps paralyse the Government."
"There is a good deal in what you say, said Hatton, taking a
strawberry with a rather absent air, and then he added, "You
remember a conversation we once had, the eve of my departure
from Mowbray in '39?"
"I do," said Morley reddening.
"The miners were not so ready then," said Hatton.
"They were not," said Morley speaking with some confusion.
"Well they are here now," said Hatton.
"They are," said Morley thoughtfully, but more collected.
"You saw them enter yesterday?" said Hatton. "I was sorry I
missed it, but I was taking a walk with the Gerards up Dale to
see the cottage where they once lived, and which they used to
talk of so much! Was it a strong body?"
"I should say about two thousand men, and as far as bludgeons
and iron staves go, armed."
"A formidable force with no military to encounter them."
"Irresistible, especially with a favourable population."
"You think the people were not grieved to see them?"
"Certainly. Left alone they might have remained quiet; but
they only wanted the spark. We have a number of young men
here who have for a long time been murmuring against our
inaction and what they call want of spirit. The Lancashire
strike set them all agog; and had any popular leader, Gerard
for example or Warner, resolved to move, they were ready."