slavery in the british factories.

great britain has long gloried in the variety and importance of her manufactures. burke spoke of birmingham as the toyshop of europe; and, at this day, the looms of manchester and the other factory towns of england furnish the dry-goods of a large portion of the world. viewed at a distance, this wonder-working industry excites astonishment and admiration; but a closer inspection will show us such corrupt and gloomy features in this vast manufacturing system as will turn a portion of admiration into shrinking disgust. giving the meed of praise to the perfection of machinery and the excellence of the fabrics, what shall we say of the human operatives? for glory purchased at the price of blood and souls is a vanity indeed. let us see!

the number of persons employed in the cotton, wool, silk, and flax manufactures of great britain is estimated at about two millions. mr. baines states that about one and a half million are employed in the cotton manufactures alone. the whole number employed in the production of all sorts of iron, hardware, and cutlery [pg 105] articles is estimated at 350,000. in the manufacture of jewelry, earthen and glass ware, paper, woollen stuffs, distilled and fermented liquors, and in the common trades of tailoring, shoemaking, carpentering, &c., the numbers employed are very great, though not accurately known. we think the facts will bear us out in stating that this vast body of operatives suffer more of the real miseries of slavery than any similar class upon the face of the earth.

in the first place, admitting that wages are as high in great britain as in any continental country, the enormous expenses of the church and aristocracy produce a taxation which eats up so large a portion of these wages, that there is not enough left to enable the workman to live decently and comfortably. but the wages are, in general, brought very low by excessive competition; and, in consequence, the operative must stretch his hours of toil far beyond all healthy limits to earn enough to pay taxes and support himself. it is the struggle of drowning men, and what wonder if many sink beneath the gloomy waves?

when c. edwards lester, an author of reputation, was in england, he visited manchester, and, making inquiries of an operative, obtained the following reply:—

"i have a wife and nine children, and a pretty hard time we have too, we are so many; and most of the children are so small, they can do little for the support of the family. i generally get from two shillings to a crown a day for carrying luggage; and some of my children are in the mills; and the rest are too young [pg 106] to work yet. my wife is never well, and it comes pretty hard on her to do the work of the whole family. we often talk these things over, and feel pretty sad. we live in a poor house; we can't clothe our children comfortably; not one of them ever went to school: they could go to the sunday-school, but we can't make them look decent enough to go to such a place. as for meat, we never taste it; potatoes and coarse bread are our principal food. we can't save any thing for a day of want; almost every thing we get for our work seems to go for taxes. we are taxed for something almost every week in the year. we have no time to ourselves when we are free from work. it seems that our life is all toil; i sometimes almost give up. life isn't worth much to a poor man in england; and sometimes mary and i, when we talk about it, pretty much conclude that we all should be better off if we were dead. i have gone home at night a great many times, and told my wife when she said supper was ready, that i had taken a bite at a chophouse on the way, and was not hungry—she and the children could eat my share. yes, i have said this a great many times when i felt pretty hungry myself. i sometimes wonder that god suffers so many poor people to come into the world."

and this is, comparatively, a mild case. instances of hard-working families living in dark, damp cellars, and having the coarsest food, are common in manchester, birmingham, and other manufacturing towns.

mrs. gaskell, in her thrilling novel, "mary barton, a tale of manchester life," depicts without exaggeration the sufferings of the operatives and their families when work is a little slack, or when, by accident, they are thrown out of employment for a short period. a large factory, belonging to a mr. carson, had been destroyed by fire, and about the same time, as trade was had, some mills shortened hours, turned off hands, [pg 107] and finally stopped work altogether. almost inconceivable misery followed among the unemployed workmen. in the best of times they fared hardly; now they were forced to live in damp and filthy cellars, and many perished, either from starvation or from fevers bred in their horrible residences. one cold evening john barton received a hurried visit from a fellow-operative, named george wilson.

"'you've not got a bit o' money by you, barton?' asked he.

"'not i; who has now, i'd like to know? whatten you want it for?'

"'i donnot want it for mysel, tho' we've none to spare. but don ye know ben davenport as worked at carson's? he's down wi' the fever, and ne'er a stick o' fire, nor a cowd potato in the house.'

"'i han got no money, i tell ye,' said barton. wilson looked disappointed. barton tried not to be interested, but he could not help it in spite of his gruffness. he rose, and went to the cupboard, (his wife's pride long ago.) there lay the remains of his dinner, hastily put there ready for supper. bread, and a slice of cold, fat, boiled bacon. he wrapped them in his handkerchief, put them in the crown of his hat, and said—'come, let's be going.'

"'going—art thou going to work this time o' day?'

"'no, stupid, to be sure not. going to see the fellow thou spoke on.' so they put on their hats and set out. on the way wilson said davenport was a good fellow, though too much of the methodee; that his children were too young to work, but not too young to be cold and hungry; that they had sunk lower and lower, and pawned thing after thing, and that now they lived in in a cellar in berry-street, off store-street. barton growled inarticulate words of no benevolent import to a large class of mankind, and so they went along till they arrived in berry-street. it was unpaved; and down the middle a gutter forced its way, every now and then forming pools in the holes with which the street abounded. never was the old edinburgh cry of 'gardez l'eau,' [pg 108] more necessary than in this street. as they passed, women from their doors tossed household slops of every description into the gutter; they ran into the next pool, which overflowed and stagnated. heaps of ashes were the stepping-stones, on which the passer-by, who cared in the least for cleanliness, took care not to put his foot. our friends were not dainty, but even they picked their way till they got to some steps leading down into a small area, where a person standing would have his head about one foot below the level of the street, and might, at the same time, without the least motion of his body, touch the window of the cellar and the damp, muddy wall right opposite. you went down one step even from the foul area into the cellar, in which a family of human beings lived. it was very dark inside. the window panes were many of them broken and stuffed with rags, which was reason enough for the dusky light that pervaded the place even at mid-day. after the account i have given of the state of the street, no one can be surprised that, on going into the cellar inhabited by davenport, the smell was so fetid as almost to knock the two men down. quickly recovering themselves, as those inured to such things do, they began to penetrate the thick darkness of the place, and to see three or four little children rolling on the damp, nay, wet, brick floor, through which the stagnant, filthy moisture of the street oozed up; the fireplace was empty and black; the wife sat on her husband's lair, and cried in the dank loneliness.

"'see, missis, i'm back again. hold your noise, children, and don't mither (trouble) your mammy for bread, here's a chap as has got some for you.'

"in that dim light, which was darkness to strangers, they clustered round barton, and tore from him the food he had brought with him. it was a large hunch of bread, but it had vanished in an instant.

"'we maun do summut for 'em,' said he to wilson. 'yo stop here, and i'll be back in half an hour.'

"so he strode, and ran, and hurried home. he emptied into the ever-useful pocket-handkerchief the little meal remaining in the mug. mary would have her tea at miss simmonds'; her food for the day was safe. then he went up-stairs for his better coat, and [pg 109] his one, gay, red and yellow silk pocket-handkerchief—his jewels, his plate, his valuables these were. he went to the pawn-shop; he pawned them for five shillings; he stopped not, nor stayed, till he was once more in london road, within five minutes' walk of berry-street—then he loitered in his gait, in order to discover the shops he wanted. he bought meat, and a loaf of bread, candles, chips, and from a little retail yard he purchased a couple of hundredweights of coals. some money yet remained—all destined for them, but he did not yet know how best to spend it. food, light, and warmth, he had instantly seen, were necessary; for luxuries he would wait. wilson's eyes filled with tears when he saw barton enter with his purchases. he understood it all, and longed to be once more in work, that he might help in some of these material ways, without feeling that he was using his son's money. but though 'silver and gold he had none,' he gave heart-service and love-works of far more value. nor was john barton behind in these. 'the fever' was (as it usually is in manchester) of a low, putrid, typhoid kind; brought on by miserable living, filthy neighbourhood, and great depression of mind and body. it is virulent, malignant, and highly infectious. but the poor are fatalists with regard to infection; and well for them it is so, for in their crowded dwellings no invalid can be isolated. wilson asked barton if he thought he should catch it, and was laughed at for his idea.

"the two men, rough, tender nurses as they were, lighted the fire, which smoked and puffed into the room as if it did not know the way up the damp, unused chimney. the very smoke seemed purifying and healthy in the thick clammy air. the children clamoured again for bread; but this time barton took a piece first to the poor, helpless, hopeless woman, who still sat by the side of her husband, listening to his anxious, miserable mutterings. she took the bread, when it was put into her hand, and broke a bit, but could not eat. she was past hunger. she fell down on the floor with a heavy, unresisting bang. the men looked puzzled. 'she's wellnigh clemmed, (starved,)' said barton. 'folk do say one musn't give clemmed people much to eat; but, bless us, she'll eat naught.'

[pg 110]

'i'll tell you what i'll do,' said wilson, i'll take these two big lads, as does naught but fight, home to my missis's for to-night, and i will get a jug o' tea. them women always does best with tea and such slop.'

"so barton was now left alone with a little child, crying, when it had done eating, for mammy, with a fainting, dead-like woman, and with the sick man, whose mutterings were rising up to screams and shrieks of agonized anxiety. he carried the woman to the fire, and chafed her hands. he looked around for something to raise her head. there was literally nothing but some loose bricks: however, those he got, and taking off his coat, he covered them with it as well as he could. he pulled her feet to the fire, which now began to emit some faint heat. he looked round for water, but the poor woman had been too weak to drag herself out to the distant pump, and water there was none. he snatched the child, and ran up the area steps to the room above, and borrowed their only saucepan with some water in it. then he began, with the useful skill of a working man, to make some gruel; and, when it was hastily made, he seized a battered iron table-spoon, kept when many other little things had been sold in a lot, in order to feed baby, and with it he forced one or two drops between her clenched teeth. the mouth opened mechanically to receive more, and gradually she revived. she sat up and looked round; and, recollecting all, fell down again in weak and passive despair. her little child crawled to her, and wiped with its fingers the thick-coming tears which she now had strength to weep. it was now high time to attend to the man. he lay on straw, so damp and mouldy no dog would have chosen it in preference to flags; over it was a piece of sacking, coming next to his worn skeleton of a body; above him was mustered every article of clothing that could be spared by mother or children this bitter weather; and, in addition to his own, these might have given as much warmth as one blanket, could they have been kept on him; but as he restlessly tossed to and fro, they fell off, and left him shivering in spite of the burning heat of his skin. every now and then he started up in his naked madness, looking like the prophet of wo in the fearful plague-picture; but he soon fell again in exhaustion, and [pg 111] barton found he must be closely watched, lest in these falls he should injure himself against the hard brick floor. he was thankful when wilson reappeared, carrying in both hands a jug of steaming tea, intended for the poor wife; but when the delirious husband saw drink, he snatched at it with animal instinct, with a selfishness he had never shown in health.

"then the two men consulted together. it seemed decided without a word being spoken on the subject, that both should spend the night with the forlorn couple; that was settled. but could no doctor be had? in all probability, no. the next day an infirmary order might be begged; but meanwhile the only medical advice they could have must be from a druggist's. so barton, being the moneyed man, set out to find a shop in london road.

"he reached a druggist's shop, and entered. the druggist, whose smooth manners seemed to have been salved over with his own spermaceti, listened attentively to barton's description of davenport's illness, concluded it was typhus fever, very prevalent in that neighbourhood, and proceeded to make up a bottle of medicine—sweet spirits of nitre, or some such innocent potion—very good for slight colds, but utterly powerless to stop for an instant the raging fever of the poor man it was intended to relieve. he recommended the same course they had previously determined to adopt, applying the next morning for an infirmary order; and barton left the shop with comfortable faith in the physic given him; for men of his class, if they believe in physic at all, believe that every description is equally efficacious.

"meanwhile wilson had done what he could at davenport's home. he had soothed and covered the man many a time; he had fed and hushed the little child, and spoken tenderly to the woman, who lay still in her weakness and her weariness. he had opened a door, but only for an instant; it led into a back cellar, with a grating instead of a window, down which dropped the moisture from pig-styes, and worse abominations. it was not paved; the floor was one mass of bad-smelling mud. it had never been used, for there was not an article of furniture in it; nor could a human being, much less a pig, have lived there many days. yet the 'back apartment' made a difference in the rent. [pg 112] the davenports paid threepence more for having two rooms. when he turned round again, he saw the woman suckling the child from her dry, withered breast.

"'surely the lad is weaned!' exclaimed he, in surprise. 'why, how old is he?'

"'going on two year,' she faintly answered. 'but, oh! it keeps him quiet when i've naught else to gi' him, and he'll get a bit of sleep lying there, if he's getten naught beside. we han done our best to gi' the childer food, howe'er we pinched ourselves.'

"'han ye had no money fra th' town?'

"'no; my master is buckinghamshire born, and he's feared the town would send him back to his parish, if he went to the board; so we've just borne on in hope o' better times. but i think they'll never come in my day;' and the poor woman began her weak, high-pitched cry again.

"'here, sup this drop o' gruel, and then try and get a bit o' sleep. john and i'll watch by your master to-night.'

"'god's blessing be on you!'

"she finished the gruel, and fell into a dead sleep. wilson covered her with his coat as well as he could, and tried to move lightly for fear of disturbing her; but there need have been no such dread, for her sleep was profound and heavy with exhaustion. once only she roused to pull the coat round her little child.

"and now, all wilson's care, and barton's to boot, was wanted to restrain the wild, mad agony of the fevered man. he started up, he yelled, he seemed infuriated by overwhelming anxiety. he cursed and swore, which surprised wilson, who knew his piety in health, and who did not know the unbridled tongue of delirium. at length he seemed exhausted, and fell asleep; and barton and wilson drew near the fire, and talked together in whispers. they sat on the floor, for chairs there were none; the sole table was an old tub turned upside down. they put out the candle and conversed by the flickering fire-light.

"'han yo known this chap long?' asked barton.

"'better nor three year. he's worked wi' carsons that long, and were always a steady, civil-spoken fellow, though, as i said afore, somewhat of a methodee. i wish i'd gotten a letter he sent [pg 113] to his missis, a week or two agone, when he were on tramp for work. it did my heart good to read it; for yo see, i were a bit grumbling mysel; it seemed hard to be sponging on jem, and taking a' his flesh-meat money to buy bread for me and them as i ought to be keeping. but, yo know, though i can earn naught, i mun eat summut. well, as i telled ye, i were grumbling, when she,' indicating the sleeping woman by a nod, 'brought me ben's letter, for she could na read hersel. it were as good as bible-words; ne'er a word o' repining; a' about god being our father, and that we mun bear patiently whate'er he sends.'

"'don ye think he's th' masters' father, too? i'd be loth to have 'em for brothers.'

"'eh, john! donna talk so; sure there's many and many a master as good nor better than us.'

"'if you think so, tell me this. how comes it they're rich, and we're poor? i'd like to know that. han they done as they'd be done by for us?'

"but wilson was no arguer—no speechifier, as he would have called it. so barton, seeing he was likely to have his own way, went on—

"'you'll say, at least many a one does, they'n getten capital, an' we'n getten none. i say, our labour's our capital, and we ought to draw interest on that. they get interest on their capital somehow a' this time, while ourn is lying idle, else how could they all live as they do? besides, there's many on 'em as had naught to begin wi'; there's carsons, and duncombes, and mengies, and many another as comed into manchester with clothes to their backs, and that were all, and now they're worth their tens of thousands, a' gotten out of our labour; why the very land as fetched but sixty pound twenty years agone is now worth six hundred, and that, too, is owing to our labour; but look at yo, and see me, and poor davenport yonder. whatten better are we? they'n screwed us down to th' lowest peg, in order to make their great big fortunes, and build their great big houses, and we—why, we're just clemming, many and many of us. can you say there's naught wrong in this?'"

[pg 114]

these poor fellows, according to the story, took care of davenport till he died in that loathsome cellar, and then had him decently buried. they knew not how soon his fate would overtake them, and they would then want friends. in the mean time, while disease and starvation were doing their work among the poor operatives, their masters were lolling on sofas, and, in the recreations of an evening, spending enough to relieve a hundred families. perhaps, also, the masters' wives were concocting petitions on the subject of negro-slavery—that kind of philanthropy costing very little money or self-sacrifice.

it may be said that the story of "mary barton" is a fiction; but it must not be forgotten that it is the work of an english writer, and that its scenes are professedly drawn from the existing realities of life in manchester, where the author resided. in the same work, we find an account of an historical affair, which is important in this connection, as showing how the wail of the oppressed is treated by the british aristocracy:—

"for three years past, trade had been getting worse and worse, and the price of provisions higher and higher. this disparity between the amount of the earnings of the working classes, and the price of their food, occasioned, in more cases than could well be imagined, disease and death. whole families went through a gradual starvation. they only wanted a dante to record their sufferings. and yet even his words would fall short of the awful truth; they could only present an outline of the tremendous facts of the destitution that surrounded thousands upon thousands in the terrible years 1839, 1840, and 1841. even philanthropists, [pg 115] who had studied the subject, were forced to own themselves perplexed in the endeavour to ascertain the real causes of the misery; the whole matter was of so complicated a nature, that it became next to impossible to understand it thoroughly. it need excite no surprise, then, to learn that a bad feeling between working men and the upper classes became very strong in this season of privation. the indigence and sufferings of the operatives induced a suspicion in the minds of many of them, that their legislators, their managers, their employers, and even their ministers of religion, were, in general, their oppressors and enemies; and were in league for their prostration and enthralment. the most deplorable and enduring evil that arose out of the period of commercial depression to which i refer, was this feeling of alienation between the different classes of society. it is so impossible to describe, or even faintly to picture, the state of distress which prevailed in the town at that time, that i will not attempt it; and yet i think again that surely, in a christian land, it was not known even so feebly as words could tell it, or the more happy and fortunate would have thronged with their sympathy and their aid. in many instances the sufferers wept first, and then they cursed. their vindictive feelings exhibited themselves in rabid politics. and when i hear, as i have heard, of the sufferings and privations of the poor, of provision-shops where ha'porths of tea, sugar, butter, and even flour, were sold to accommodate the indigent—of parents sitting in their clothes by the fireside during the whole night, for seven weeks together, in order that their only bed and bedding might be reserved for the use of their large family—of others sleeping upon the cold hearth-stone for weeks in succession, without adequate means of providing themselves with food or fuel (and this in the depth of winter)—of others being compelled to fast for days together, uncheered by any hope of better fortune, living, moreover, or rather starving, in a crowded garret or damp cellar, and gradually sinking under the pressure of want and despair into a premature grave; and when this has been confirmed by the evidence of their care-worn looks, their excited feelings, and their desolate homes—can i wonder that many of them, in such times of [pg 116] misery and destitution, spoke and acted with ferocious precipitation!

"an idea was now springing up among the operatives, that originated with the chartists, but which came at last to be cherished as a darling child by many and many a one. they could not believe that government knew of their misery; they rather chose to think it possible that men could voluntarily assume the office of legislators for a nation, ignorant of its real state; as who should make domestic rules for the pretty behaviour of children, without caring to know that these children had been kept for days without food. besides, the starving multitudes had heard that the very existence of their distress had been denied in parliament; and though they felt this strange and inexplicable, yet the idea that their misery had still to be revealed in all its depths, and that then some remedy would be found, soothed their aching hearts, and kept down their rising fury.

"so a petition was framed, and signed by thousands in the bright spring days of 1839, imploring parliament to hear witnesses who could testify to the unparalleled destitution of the manufacturing districts. nottingham, sheffield, glasgow, manchester, and many other towns, were busy appointing delegates to convey this petition, who might speak, not merely of what they had seen and had heard, but from what they had borne and suffered. life-worn, gaunt, anxious, hunger-stamped men were those delegates."

the delegates went in a body to london, and applied at the parliament house for permission to present their petition upon the subject nearest their hearts—the question of life and death. they were haughtily denied a hearing. the assemblage of the "best gentlemen in europe," were, perhaps, discussing the best means of beautifying their parks and extending their estates. what had these rose-pink legislators to do with the miseries of the base-born rabble—the soil-serfs [pg 117] of their chivalric norman ancestors? the delegates returned in despair to their homes, to meet their starving relatives and friends, and tell them there was not a ray of hope. in france such a rejection of a humble petition from breadless working-men would have been followed by a revolution. in great britain the labourers seem to have the inborn submission of hereditary slaves. though they feel the iron heel of the aristocracy upon their necks, and see their families starving around them, they delay, and still delay, taking that highway to freedom—manly and united rebellion.

the workmen employed in the factories are subjected to the cruel treatment of overlookers, who have the power of masters, and use it as tyrants. if an operative does not obey an order, he is not merely reproved, but kicked and beaten as a slave. he dare not resent, for if he did he would be turned forth to starve. such being the system under which he works, the operative has the look and air of a degraded helot. most of them are unhealthy, destitute of spirit, and enfeebled by toil and privation. the hand-loom weavers, who are numerous in some districts, are the most miserable of the labourers, being hardly able to earn scant food and filthy shelter.

the hundreds of thousands of tender age employed in all the various branches of manufacture are in all cases the children of the poor. when the father goes [pg 118] to the workhouse he has no longer any control over his children. they are at the mercy of the parish, and may be separated, apprenticed to all sorts of masters, and treated, to all intents and purposes, as slaves. the invention of labour-saving machinery has brought the services of children into great demand in the manufacturing towns. they may be bought at the workhouse at a cheap rate, and then they must trust to god alone for their future welfare. there is scarcely an instance in which the law ever interferes for their protection. the masters and overlookers are allowed to beat their younger operatives with impunity.

the following evidence contains instances of a treatment totally barbarous, and such are very frequent, according to the report of the commissioners:—

"when she was a child, too little to put on her ain claithes, the overlooker used to beat her till she screamed again. gets many a good beating and swearing. they are all very ill-used. the overseer carries a strap. has been licked four or five times. the boys are often severely strapped; the girls sometimes get a clout. the mothers often complain of this. has seen the boys have black and blue marks after strapping. three weeks ago the overseer struck him in the eye with his clenched fist, so as to force him to be absent two days. another overseer used to beat him with his fist, striking him so that his arm was black and blue. has often seen the workers beat cruelly. has seen the girls strapped; but the boys were beat so that they fell to the floor in the course of the beating with a rope with four tails, called a cat. has seen the boys black and blue, crying for mercy.

"the other night a little girl came home cruelly beaten; [pg 119] wished to go before a magistrate, but was advised not. that man is always strapping the children. the boys are badly used. they are whipped with a strap till they cry out and shed tears; has seen the managers kick and strike them. has suffered much from the slubbers' ill treatment. it is the practice of the slubbers to go out and amuse themselves for an hour or so, and then make up their work in the same time, which is a great fatigue to the piecers, keeping them 'on the run' for an hour and a half together, besides kicking and beating them for doing it badly, when they were so much tired. the slubbers are all brutes to the children; they get intoxicated, and then kick them about; they are all alike. never complained to the master; did once to his mother, and she gave him a halfpenny not to mind it, to go back to work like a good boy. sometimes he used to be surly, and would not go, and then she always had that tale about the halfpenny; sometimes he got the halfpenny, and sometimes not.

"he has seen the other children beaten. the little girls standing at the drawing-head. they would run home and fetch their mothers sometimes.

"hears the spinners swear very bad at their piecers, and sees 'em lick 'em sometimes; some licks 'em with a strap, some licks 'em with hand; some straps is as long as your arm, some is very thick, and some thin; don't know where they get the straps. there is an overlooker in the room; he very seldom comes in; they won't allow 'em if they knows of it. (child volunteered the last observation. asked how she knew that the overlookers would not allow the spinners to lick the little hands; answers, 'because i've heard 'em say so.') girls cry when struck with straps; only one girl struck yesterday; they very seldom strike 'em.

"there is an overlooker in the room, who is a man. the doffer always scolds her when she is idle, not the overlooker; the doffer is a girl. sometimes sees her hit the little hands; always hits them with her hands. sometimes the overlooker hits the little hands; always with her hand when she does. her mother is a throstle-spinner, in her room. the overseer scolds the little hands; says he'll bag 'em; sometimes swears at 'em. sometimes [pg 120] overseer beats a 'little hand;' when he does it, it is always with his open hand; it is not so very hard; sometimes on the face, sometimes on the back. he never beats her. some on 'em cries when they are beat, some doesn't. he beats very seldom; didn't beat any yesterday, nor last week, nor week before; doesn't know how long it is ago since she has seen him strike a girl. if our little helper gets careless we may have occasion to correct her a bit. some uses 'em very bad; beats 'em; but only with the hand; and pulls their ears. some cry, but not often. ours is a good overlooker, but has heard overlookers curse very bad. the women weavers themselves curse. has never cursed herself. can say so honestly from her heart.

"drawers are entirely under the control of the weavers, said a master; they must obey their employer; if they do not they are sometimes beat and sometimes discharged. i chastise them occasionally with alight whip; do not allow it by my workmen; sometimes they are punished with a fool's-cap, sometimes with a cane, but not severely."

"william m. beath, of mr. owen's new lanark mills, deposed: 'thinks things improved under mr. owen's management. recollects seeing children beaten very severe at times. he himself has been beaten very sore, so bad that his head was not in its useful state for several days. recollects, in particular, one boy—james barry—who was very unfond of working in the mill, who was always beaten to his work by his father, with his hands and feet; the boy was then beaten with a strap by the overseers, for being too late, and not being willing to come. has seen him so beaten by robert shirley, william watson, and robert sim. the boy, james barry, never came properly to manhood. it was always conjectured that he had too many beatings. he was the cruellest beat boy ever i saw there. there was a boy, whose name he does not recollect, and while he (w. m. b.) was working as a weaver at lanark, having left the mill, and his death was attributed by many to a kick in the groin from peter gall, an overseer. does not recollect whether the ill usage of the children above alluded to took place in mr. owen's time, or before he came; but there was certainly a great improvement, in many respects, [pg 121] under his management, particularly in cleanliness, shorter hours, and the establishment of schools. has been three years employed in his present situation. has two children of his own in the mill. does not believe (and he has every opportunity of knowing) that the children of this mill have been tampered with by anybody, with a view to their testimony before the commissioners, and that they are not afraid to tell the truth. he himself would, on account of his children, like a little shorter hours and a little less wages; they would then have a better opportunity of attending a night-school.'

"henry dunn, aged twenty-seven, a spinner: 'has been five years on this work. went at eight years of age to mr. dunn's mill at duntochar; that was a country situation, and much healthier than factories situated in town. they worked then from six to eight; twelve hours and a half for work, and one hour and a half for meals. liked that mill as well as any he ever was in. great attention was paid to the cleanliness and comfort of the people. the wages were lower there at that time than they were at glasgow. after leaving duntochar, he came into town to see mr. humphrey's, (now messrs. robert thompson,) which was at that time one continued scene of oppression. a system of cruelty prevailed there at that time, which was confined almost entirely to that work. the wheels were very small, and young men and women of the ages of seventeen and eighteen were the spinners. there was a tenter to every flat, and he was considered as a sort of whipper-in, to force the children to extra exertion. has seen wounds inflicted upon children by tenters, by alexander drysdale, among others, with a belt or stick, or the first thing that came uppermost. saw a kick given by the above-mentioned alexander drysdale, which broke two ribs of a little boy. helped to carry the boy down to a surgeon. the boy had been guilty of some very trifling offence, such as calling names to the next boy. but the whole was the same; all the tenters were alike. never saw any ill-treatment of the children at this mill. mr. stevenson is a very fine man. the machinery in the spinning department is quite well boxed in—it could not be better; but the cards might be more protected with great advantage. [pg 122] it is very hot in winter, but he can't tell how hot. there is no thermometer.'

"ellen ferrier, aged thirteen; carries bobbins: 'has been three years in this mill. was one year before in another mill in this town; doesn't like neither of them very well, because she was always very tired from working from half-past five o'clock in the morning until half-past seven, with only two intervals of half an hour each. she sometimes falls asleep now. she worked formerly in the lower flat. when charles kennedy was the overseer he licked us very bad, beat our heads with his hand, and kicked us very bad when the ends were down. he was aye licking them, and my gademother (stepmother) has two or three times complained to mr. shanks, (senior,) and mr. s. always told him about it, but he never minded. does not know what he left the mill for. a good many folks went away from this mill just for kennedy. can read; cannot write.'

"mary scott, aged fourteen: 'has been here two years. was here with charles kennedy. when he has seen us just speaking to one another, he struck us with his hands and with his feet. he beat us when he saw any of the ends down. has seen him strike ellen ferrier (the last witness) very often, just with his hands; and has seen him strike betty sutherland; can't tell how often, but it was terrible often.'

"euphemia anderson, aged twenty: 'has been three years at this mill; has been in different mills since she was seven years old. about six years ago she was taken ill with pains in the legs, and remained ill for three years. i wasn't able to stand. thinks it was the standing so long that made her ill. she is now again quite in good health, except that she is sair-footed sometimes. they have seats to sit down upon. when the work is bad, we cannot get time to sit down. when the flax is good we have a good deal of time. has never seen children beat by charles kennedy, but has heard talk of it; has often heard them complain of him, never of anybody else. can read; cannot write. never went to a school; never had muckle time. she would give up some of her wages to have shorter hours. her usual dinner is broth and potatoes.'"

[pg 123]

the next evidence is particularly valuable, as it came from a person who had left the factory work; and having an independent business, he may be presumed to have spoken without fear or favour:—

"william campbell, aged thirty-seven: 'is a grocer, carrying on business in belfast. was bred up a cotton-spinner. went first as a piecer to his father, who was a spinner at mr. hussy's mill, graham square, glasgow, and afterward to several mills in this place, among which was mr. john mccrackan's, where he was, altogether, piecer and spinner between four and five years, (1811-1818.) there was a regulation at that time there, that every hand should be fined if five minutes too late at any working hour in the morning and after meals—the younger 5d., which amounted to the whole wages of some of the lesser ones; the older hands were fined as high as 10d. the treatment of the children at that time was very cruel. has seen robert martin, the manager, continually beating the children—with his hands generally, sometimes with his clenched fist. has often seen his sister jane, then about fourteen, struck by him; and he used to pinch her ears till the blood came, and pull her hair. the faults were usually very trifling. if on coming in he should find any girl combing her hair, that was an offence for which he would beat her severely, and he would do so if he heard them talking to one another. he never complained of the ill-usage of his sister, because he believed if he did, his father and two sisters, who were both employed in the mill, would have been immediately dismissed. a complaint was made by the father of a little girl, against martin, for beating a child. mr. ferrer, the police magistrate, admonished him. he was a hot-headed, fiery man, and when he saw the least fault, or what he conceived to be a fault, he just struck them at once. does not recollect any child getting a lasting injury from any beating here. the treatment of the children at the mill was the only thing which could be called cruelty which he had witnessed. one great hardship to people employed in the factories is the want of good water, [pg 124] which exists in most of them. at only one of the mills which he worked at was there water such as could be drunk brought into the flats, and that was mr. holdsworth's mill, anderson, glasgow. from what he recollects of his own and his sister's feelings, he considers the hours which were then and are still commonly occupied in actual labour—viz. twelve hours and a half per day—longer than the health of children can sustain, and also longer than will admit of any time being reserved in the evening for their instruction.'"

these instances of steady, systematic cruelty, in the treatment of children, go far beyond any thing recorded of slave-drivers in other countries. if an american overseer was to whip a slave to death, an awful groan would express the horror of english lords and ladies. but in the factories of great britain we have helpless children not only kicked and beaten, but liable at any moment to receive a mortal wound from the billy-roller of an exasperated slubber. here is more evidence, which we cannot think will flag in interest:—

"john gibb, eleven years old, solemnly sworn, deposes, 'that he has been about three years a piecer in one of the spinning-rooms; that the heat and confinement makes his feet sair, and makes him sick and have headaches, and he often has a stitch in his side; that he is now much paler than he used to be; that he receives 4s. 6d. a week, which he gives to his mother; that he is very desirous of short hours, that he might go to school more than he can do at present; that the spinners often lick him, when he is in fault, with taws of leather.'

"alexander wylie, twenty-six years old, solemnly sworn, deposes, 'that he is a spinner in one of the spinning departments; that most of the spinners keep taws to preserve their authority, but he does not; that he has seen them pretty severely whipped, [pg 125] when they were in fault; that he has seen piecers beat by the overseers, even with their clenched fists; that he has seen both boys and girls so treated; that he has seen john ewan beating his little piecers severely, even within these few weeks; that when he had a boy as a piecer, he beat him even more severely than the girls; that he never saw a thermometer in his flat, till to-day, when, in consequence of a bet, the heat was tried, and it was found to be 72°, but that they are spinning coarser cotton in his flat than in some of the other flats, where greater heat is requisite.'

"bell sinclair, thirteen years old, solemnly sworn, deposes, 'that she has been about four years in the same flat with john gibb, a preceding witness; that all the spinners in the apartment keep a leather strap, or taws, with which to punish the piecers, both boys and girls—the young ones chiefly when they are negligent; that she has been often punished by francis gibb and by robert clarke, both with taws and with their hands, and with his open cuff; that he has licked her on the side of the head and on her back with his hands, and with the strap on her back and arms; that she was never much the worse of the beating, although she has sometimes cried and shed tears when gibb or clarke was hitting her sair.' deposes that she cannot write.

"mary ann collins, ten years old, solemnly sworn, deposes, 'that she has been a year in one of the spinning-rooms in which john ewan is a spinner; that yesterday he gave her a licking with the taws; that all the spinners keep taws except alexander wylie; that he beat her once before till she grat; that she has sometimes a pain in her breast, and was absent yesterday on that account.' deposes that she cannot write.

"daniel mcginty, twenty-two years old, solemnly sworn, deposes, 'that he has been nearly two years a spinner here; that he notices the piecers frequently complain of bad health; that he was a petitioner for short hours, so that the people might have more time for their education as well as for health; that he had a strap to punish the children when they were in fault, but he has not had one for some time, and the straps are not so common now as they were formerly; that he and the other spinners [pg 126] prefer giving the piecers a lick on the side of the head with their hands, than to use a strap at all; that he has seen instances of piecers being knocked down again and again, by a blow from the hand, in other mills, but not since he came to this one; that he has been knocked down himself in barrowfield mill, by lauchlin mcwharry, the spinner to whom he was a piecer.'

"isabella stewart, twenty-two years old, solemnly sworn, deposes, 'that she has been four years at this mill, and several years at other mills; that she is very hoarse, and subject to cough, and her feet and ankles swell in the evening; that she is very anxious for short hours—thirteen hours are real lang hours—but she has nothing else to find fault with; that alexander simpson straps the young workers, and even gives her, or any of the workers, if they are too late, a lick with the strap across the shoulders; that he has done this within a week or two; that he sometimes gives such a strap as to hurt her, but it is only when he is in a passion.' deposes that 'she cannot write. in the long hours they canna get time to write nor to do nae thing.'

"james patterson, aged sixty years, solemnly sworn, deposes, 'that he is an overseer in messrs. james and william brown's flax-spinning mill, at dundee, and has been in their employment for about seven years; that he was previously at the spinning mill at glamis for twelve years, and there lost his right hand and arm, caught by the belt of the wheels, in the preparing floor; that he is in the reeling flat, with the women, who are tired and sleepy; one of them—margaret porter—at present in bed, merely from standing so long for a fortnight past; that it would be god's blessing for every one to have shorter hours; that he has been about forty years in spinning-mills, and has seen the young people so lashed with a leather belt that they could hardly stand: that at trollick, a mill now given up, he has seen them lashed, skin naked, by the manager, james brown; that at moniferth he has seen them taken out of bed, when they did not get up in time, and lashed with horsewhips to their work, carrying their clothes, while yet naked, to the work, in their arms with them.'

"william roe, (examined at his own request:) 'i am constable [pg 127] of radford. i was in the army. i went to work with mr. wilson in 1825. i had been with strutts, at belper, before that. the reason i left was this: i was told the overlooker was leathering one of my boys. i had two sons there. the overlooker was crooks. i found him strapping the boy, and i struck him. i did not stop to ask whether the boy had done any thing. i had heard of his beating him before. smith came up, and said i should work there no more till i had seen mr. wilson. my answer was, that neither i nor mine should ever work more for such a mill as that was. it was but the day before i took the boy to smith, to show him that he had no time to take his victuals till he came out at twelve. there was no satisfaction, but he laughed at it. that was the reason i took the means into my own hands. crooks threatened to fetch a warrant for me, but did not. i told him the master durst not let him. the boy had been doing nothing, only could not keep up his work enough to please them. i left the mill, and took away my sons. one was ten, the other was between eight and nine. they went there with me. the youngest was not much past eight when he went. i heard no more of it. i put all my reasons down in a letter to mr. wilson, but i heard no more of it. smith was sent away afterward, but i don't know why. i have heard it was for different ill-usages. crooks is there now. hogg was the overlooker in my room. i have often seen him beat a particular boy who was feeding cards. one day he pulled his ear till he pulled it out of the socket, and it bled very much. i mean he tore the bottom of the ear from the head. i went to him and said, if that boy was mine i'd give him a better threshing than ever he had in his life. it was reported to mr. s. wilson, and he told me i had better mind my own business, and not meddle with the overlookers. i never heard that the parents complained. mr. s. wilson is dead now. mr. w. wilson said to me afterward, i had made myself very forward in meddling with the overlookers' business. i was to have come into the warehouse at nottingham, but in consequence of my speaking my mind i lost the situation. i never had any complaint about my work while i was there, nor at mr. strutt's. i left mr. strutt's in hopes to better myself. i [pg 128] came as a machine smith. i went back to mr. strutt's, at milford, after i left wilson, for two years. the men never had more than twenty-five minutes for their dinner, and no extra pay for stopping there. i dressed the top cards, and ground them. i never heard that mr. wilson proposed to stop the breakfast hour, and that the hands wished to go on. i don't think such a thing could be. whilst i worked there we always went in at half-past five, and worked till nigh half-past seven. we were never paid a farthing overtime. at strutt's, if ever we worked an hour overtime, we were paid an hour and a half. i have seen smith take the girls by the hair with one hand, and slap them in the face with the other; big and little, it made no difference. he worked there many years before he was turned away. he works in the mill again now, but not as an overlooker. i never knew of any complaint to the magistrate against smith. i had 12s. when i was there for standing wages. it was about nine in the morning my boy was beat. i think it was in the middle of the day the boy's ear was pulled. the work was very severe there while it lasted. a boy generally had four breakers and finisher-cards to mind. such a boy might mind six when he had come on to eleven or twelve; i mean finishers. a boy can mind from three to four breakers. any way they had not time to get their victuals. i don't know what the present state of the mill is as to beating. men will not complain to the magistrates while work is so scarce, and they are liable to be turned out; and if they go to the parish, why there it is, 'why, you had work, why did you not stay at it?'"

robert blincoe, a small manufacturer, once an apprentice to a cotton mill, and one who had seen and suffered much in factories, was sworn and examined by dr. hawkins, on the 18th of may, 1833. in the evidence, which follows, it will be noted that most of the sufferers mentioned were parish children, without protectors of any kind:[pg 129]—

"'do you know where you were born?' 'no; i only know that i came out of st. pancras parish, london.'

"'do you know the name of your parents?' 'no. i used to be called, when young, robert saint; but when i received my indentures i was called robert blincoe; and i have gone by that name ever since.'

"'what age are you?' 'near upon forty, according to my indentures."

"'have you no other means of knowing your age but what you find in your indentures?' 'no, i go by that.'

"'do you work at a cotton mill?' 'not now. i was bound apprentice to a cotton mill for fourteen years, from st. pancras parish; then i got my indentures. i worked five or six years after, at different mills, but now i have got work of my own. i rent power from a mill in stockport, and have a room to myself. my business is a sheet wadding manufacturer.'

"'why did you leave off working at the cotton mills?' 'i got tired of it, the system is so bad; and i had saved a few pounds. i got deformed there; my knees began to bend in when i was fifteen; you see how they are, (showing them.) there are many, many far worse than me at manchester.'

"'can you take exercise with ease?' 'a very little makes me sweat in walking. i have not the strength of those who are straight.'

"'have you ever been in a hospital, or under doctors, for your knees or legs?' 'never in a hospital, or under doctors for that, but from illness from over-work i have been. when i was near nottingham there were about eighty of us together, boys and girls, all 'prenticed out from st. pancras parish, london, to cotton mills; many of us used to be ill, but the doctors said it was only for want of kitchen physic, and want of more rest.'

"'had you any accidents from machinery?' 'no, nothing to signify much; i have not myself, but i saw, on the 6th of march last, a man killed by machinery at stockport; he was smashed, and he died in four or five hours; i saw him while the accident took place; he was joking with me just before; it was in my own room. i employ a poor sore cripple under me, who could not [pg 130] easily get work anywhere else. a young man came good-naturedly from another room to help my cripple, and he was accidentally drawn up by the strap, and was killed. i have known many such accidents take place in the course of my life.'

"'recollect a few.' 'i cannot recollect the exact number, but i have known several: one was at lytton mill, at derbyshire; another was the master of a factory at staley bridge, of the name of bailey. many more i have known to receive injuries, such as the loss of a limb. there is plenty about stockport that is going about now with one arm; they cannot work in the mills, but they go about with jackasses and such like. one girl, mary richards, was made a cripple, and remains so now, when i was in lowdham mill, near nottingham. she was lapped up by a shaft underneath the drawing-frame. that is now an old-fashioned machinery.'

"'have you any children?' 'three.'

"'do you send them to factories?' 'no. i would rather have them transported. in the first place, they are standing upon one leg, lifting up one knee a greater part of the day, keeping the ends up from the spindle. i consider that that employment makes many cripples; then there is the heat and dust; then there are so many different forms of cruelty used upon them; then they are so liable to have their fingers catched, and to suffer other accidents from the machinery; then the hours is so long that i have seen them tumble down asleep among the straps and machinery, and so get cruelly hurt; then i would not have a child of mine there, because there is not good morals; there is such a lot of them together that they learn mischief.'

"'what do you do with your children?' 'my eldest of thirteen has been to school, and can teach me. she now stays at home, and helps her mother in the shop. she is as tall as me, and is very heavy. very different from what she would have been if she had worked in a factory. my two youngest go to school, and are both healthy. i send them every day two miles to school. i know from experience the ills of confinement.'

"'what are the forms of cruelty that you spoke of just now as being practised upon children in factories?' 'i have seen the [pg 131] time when two hand-vices, of a pound weight each, more or less, have been screwed to my ears at lytton mill, in derbyshire. here are the scars still remaining behind my ears. then three or four of us have been hung at once to a cross-beam above the machinery, hanging by our hands, without shirts or stockings. mind, we were apprentices, without father or mother, to take care of us; i don't say they often do that now. then, we used to stand up, in a skip, without our shirts, and be beat with straps or sticks; the skip was to prevent us from running away from the strap.'

"'do you think such things are done now in manchester?' 'no, not just the same things; but i think the children are still beaten by overlookers; not so much, however, in manchester, where justice is always at hand, as in country places. then they used to tie on a twenty-eight pounds weight, (one or two at once,) according to our size, to hang down on our backs, with no shirts on. i have had them myself. then they used to tie one leg up to the faller, while the hands were tied behind. i have a book written about these things, describing my own life and sufferings. i will send it to you.' [88]

"'do the masters know of these things, or were they done only by the overlookers?' 'the masters have often seen them, and have been assistants in them.'

the work is so protracted that the children are exhausted, and many become crippled from standing too long in unhealthy positions:—

"john wright, steward in the silk factory of messrs. brinsley and shatwell, examined by mr. tufnell.

"'what are the effects of the present system of labour?' 'from my earliest recollections, i have found the effects to be awfully detrimental to the well-being of the operative; i have observed, frequently, children carried to factories, unable to walk, and that [pg 132] entirely owing to excessive labour and confinement. the degradation of the work-people baffles all description; frequently have two of my sisters been obliged to be assisted to the factory and home again, until by and by they could go no longer, being totally crippled in their legs. and in the next place, i remember some ten or twelve years ago working in one of the largest firms in macclesfield, (messrs. baker and pearson,) with about twenty-five men, where they were scarce one-half fit for his majesty's service. those that are straight in their limbs are stunted in their growth, much inferior to their fathers in point of strength. 3dly. through excessive labour and confinement there is often a total loss of appetite; a kind of languor steals over the whole frame, enters to the very core, saps the foundation of the best constitution, and lays our strength prostrate in the dust. in the fourth place, by protracted labour there is an alarming increase of cripples in various parts of this town, which has come under my own observation and knowledge.'"

young sufferers gave the following evidence to the commissioners:—

"'many a time has been so fatigued that she could hardly take off her clothes at night, or put them on in the morning; her mother would be raging at her, because when she sat down she could not get up again through the house.' 'looks on the long hours as a great bondage.' 'thinks they are not much better than the israelites in egypt, and their life is no pleasure to them.' 'when a child, was so tired that she could seldom eat her supper, and never awoke of herself.'—'are the hours to be shortened?' earnestly demanded one of these girls of the commissioner who was examining her, 'for they are too long.'"

the truth of the account given by the children of the fatigue they experience by the ordinary labour of the factory is confirmed by the testimony of their parents. in general, the representation made by parents is like the following: [pg 133]—

"'her children come home so tired and worn out they can hardly eat their supper.' 'has often seen his daughter come home in the evening so fatigued that she would go to bed supper-less,' 'has seen the young workers absolutely oppressed, and unable to sit down or rise up; this has happened to his own children.'

these statements are confirmed by the evidence of the adult operatives. the depositions of the witnesses of this class are to the effect, that "the younger workers are greatly fatigued;" that "children are often very severe (unwilling) in the mornings;" that "children are quite tired out;" that "the long hours exhaust the workers, especially the young ones, to such a degree that they can hardly walk home;" that "the young workers are absolutely oppressed, and so tired as to be unable to sit down or rise up;" that "younger workers are so tired they often cannot raise their hands to their head;" that "all the children are very keen for short hours, thinking them now such bondage that they might as well be in a prison;" that "the children, when engaged in their regular work, are often exhausted beyond what can be expressed;" that "the sufferings of the children absolutely require that the hours should be shortened."

the depositions of the overlookers are to the same effect, namely, that "though the children may not complain, yet that they seem tired and sleepy, and happy to get out of doors to play themselves. that, "the work over-tires the workers in general." "often sees the children very tired and stiff-like." "is entirely of [pg 134] opinion, after real experience, that the hours of labour are far too long for the children, for their health and education; has from twenty-two to twenty-four boys under his charge, from nine to about fourteen years old, and they are generally much tired at night, always anxious, asking if it be near the mill-stopping." "never knew a single worker among the children that did not complain of the long hours, which prevent them from getting education, and from getting health in the open air."

the managers in like manner state, that "the labour exhausts the children;" that "the workers are tired in the evening;" that "children inquire anxiously for the hour of stopping." and admissions to the same effect, on the part of managers and proprietors, will be found in every part of the scotch depositions.

in the north-eastern district the evidence is equally complete that the fatigue of the young workers is great.

"'i have known the children,' says one witness, 'to hide themselves in the store among the wool, so that they should not go home when the work was over, when we have worked till ten or eleven. i have seen six or eight fetched out of the store and beat home; beat out of the mill however; i do not know why they should hide themselves, unless it was that they were too tired to go home.'

"'many a one i have had to rouse in the last hour, when the work is very slack, from fatigue.' 'the children were very much jaded, especially when we worked late at night.' 'the children bore the long hours very ill indeed.' 'exhausted in body and depressed in mind by the length of the hours and the height of the temperature.' 'i found, when i was an overlooker, that, after [pg 135] the children from eight to twelve years had worked eight, nine, or ten hours, they were nearly ready to faint; some were asleep; some were only kept to work by being spoken to, or by a little chastisement, to make them jump up. i was sometimes obliged to chastise them when they were almost fainting, and it hurt my feelings; then they would spring up and work pretty well for another hour; but the last two or three hours were my hardest work, for they then got so exhausted,' 'i have never seen fathers carrying their children backward nor forward to the factories; but i have seen children, apparently under nine, and from nine to twelve years of age, going to the factories at five in the morning almost asleep in the streets.'"

"ellen cook, card-filler: 'i was fifteen last winter. i worked on then sometimes day and night;—may be twice a week; i used to earn 4s. a week; i used to go home to dinner; i was a feeder then; i am a feeder still. we used to come at half-past eight at night, and work all night till the rest of the girls came in the morning; they would come at seven, i think. sometimes we worked on till half-past eight the next night, after we had been working all the night before. we worked on meal-hours, except at dinner. i have done that sometimes three nights a week, and sometimes four nights. it was just as the overlooker chose. john singleton; he is overlooker now. sometimes the slubbers would work on all night too; not always. the pieceners would have to stay all night then too. it was not often though that the slubbers worked all night. we worked by ourselves. it was when one of the boilers was spoiled; that was the reason we had to work all night. the engine would not carry all the machines. i was paid for the over-hours when we worked day and night; not for meal-hours. we worked meal-hours, but were not paid for them. george lee is the slubber in this room. he has worked all night; not often, i think; not above twice all the time we worked so; sometimes he would not work at all. the pieceners would work too when he did. they used to go to sleep, poor things! when they had over-hours in the night. i think they were ready enough to sleep sometimes, when they only worked in the daytime. i never was a piecener; sometimes i go to help them when there are a good [pg 136] many cardings. we have to get there by half-past five, in the morning, now. the engine begins then. we don't go home to breakfast. sometimes we have a quarter of an hour; sometimes twenty minutes; sometimes none. them in the top-room have a full half hour. we can't take half an hour if we like it; we should get jawed; we should have such a noise, we should not hear the last of it. the pieceners in this room (there were four) have the same time as we do. in some of the rooms they forfeit them if they are five minutes too late; they don't in this room. the slubber often beats the pieceners. he has a strap, and wets it, and gives them a strap over the hands, poor things! they cry out ever so loud sometimes; i don't know how old they are.'"

"james simpson, aged twenty-four, solemnly sworn, deposes: 'that he has been about fifteen years in spinning mills; that he has been nearly a year as an overseer in mr. kinmond's mill here, and was dismissed on the 2d of may, for supporting, at a meeting of the operatives, the ten hours bill; that he was one of the persons to receive subscriptions, in money, to forward the business, and was dismissed, not on a regular pay-day, but on a thursday evening, by james malcolm, manager, who told him that he was dismissed for being a robber to his master in supporting the ten hours bill; that by the regulations of the mill he was entitled to a week's notice, and that a week's wages were due to him at the time, but neither sum has been paid; that he was two or three times desired by the overseer to strike the boys if he saw them at any time sitting, and has accordingly struck them with a strap, but never so severely as to hurt them; that he is not yet employed.' and the preceding deposition having been read over to him, he was cautioned to be perfectly sure that it was true in all particulars, as it would be communicated to the overseer named by him, and might still be altered if, in any particular, he wished the change of a word; but he repeated his assertion, on oath, that it was.

"ann kennedy, sixteen years old, solemnly sworn, deposes: 'that she has been nearly a year a piecer to james mcnish, a preceding witness; that she has had swelled feet for about a year, but she thinks them rather better; that she has a great deal of pain, both in her feet and legs, so that she was afraid she would [pg 137] not be able to go on with the work; that she thought it was owing to the heat and the long standing on her feet; that it is a very warm room she is in; that she sometimes looks at the thermometer and sees it at 82°, or 84, or 86°; that all the people in the room are very pale, and a good deal of them complaining.' deposes, that she cannot write.

"joseph hurtley, aged forty-four: 'is an overlooker of the flax-dressing department. has been there since the commencement. thinks, from what he observes, that the hours are too long for children. is led to think so from seeing the children much exhausted toward the conclusion of the work. when he came here first, and the children were all new to the work, he found that by six o'clock they began to be drowsy and sleepy. he took different devices to keep them awake, such as giving them snuff, &c.; but this drowsiness partly wore off in time, from habit, but he still observes the same with all the boys, (they are all boys in his department,) and it continues with them for some time. does not know whether the children go to school in the evening, but he thinks, from their appearance, that they would be able to receive very little benefit from tuition.

"'the occupation of draw-boys and girls to harness hand-loom weavers, in their own shops, is by far the lowest and least sought after of any connected with the manufacture of cotton. they are poor, neglected, ragged, dirty children. they seldom are taught any thing, and they work as long as the weaver, that is, as long as they can see, standing on the same spot, always barefooted, on an earthen, cold, damp floor, in a close, damp cellar, for thirteen or fourteen hours a day.

"'the power-loom dressers have all been hand-loom weavers, but now prevent any more of their former companions from being employed in their present business.

"'they earn 2s. per week, and eat porridge, if their parents can afford it; if not, potatoes and salt. they are, almost always, between nine and thirteen years of age, and look healthy, though some have been two or three years at the business; while the weaver, for whom they draw, is looking pale, squalid, and underfed.

[pg 138]

"'there are some hundreds of children thus employed in the immediate neighbourhood of glasgow.'"

in leicester, mr. drinkwater, of the factory commission, found that great cruelty was practised upon the children employed in some of the factories, by the workmen called "slubbers," for whom the young creatures act as piecers. thomas hough, a trimmer and dyer, who had worked at robinson's factory, deposed—

"'the children were beaten at the factory; i complained, and they were turned away. if i could have found the man at the time there would have something happened, i am sure. i knew the man; it was the slubber with whom they worked. his name was smith. robinson had the factory then. i had my second son in to mr. robinson, and stripped him, and showed him how cruelly he had been beaten. there were nineteen bruises on his back and posteriors. it was not with the billy-roller. it was with the strap. he has often been struck with the billy-roller at other times, over the head. robinson rebuked the man, and said he should not beat them any more. the children were beat several times after that; and on account of my making frequent complaints they turned the children away. they worked with smith till they left. smith was of a nasty disposition, rather. i would say of the slubbers generally, that they are a morose, ill-tempered set. their pay depends on the children's work. the slubbers are often off drinking, and then they must work harder to get the cardings up. i have seen that often. that is in the lamb's-wool trade. mr. gamble is one of the most humane men that ever lived, by all that i hear, and he will not allow the slubbers to touch the children, on any pretence; if they will not work, he turns them away. there gets what they call flies on the cardings, that is, when the cardings are not properly pieced; and it is a general rule to strike the children when that happens too often. they allow so many ratched cardings, as they call them, in a certain time; and if there are more, they call the [pg 139] children round to the billy-gate and strap them. i have seen the straps which some of them use; they are as big as the strap on my son's lathe yonder, about an inch broad, (looking at it.) oh, it is bigger than this, (it measured 7-8ths.) it is about an inch. i have seen the children lie down on the floor, and the slubber strike on them as they lay. it depends entirely on the temper of the man; sometimes they will only swear at them, sometimes they will beat them. they will be severe with them at one time, and very familiar at another, and run on with all sorts of debauched language, and take indecent liberties with the feeders and other big girls, before the children. that is the reason why they call the factories hell-holes. there are some a good deal different. the overlookers do not take much notice generally. they pick out bullies, generally, for overlookers. it is very necessary to have men of a determined temper to keep the hands in order.

"'i have known my children get strapped two or three times between a meal. at all times of the day. sometimes they would escape for a day or two together, just as it might happen. then they get strapped for being too late. they make the children sum up, that is, pick up the waste, and clean up the billies during the meal-time, so that the children don't get their time. the cruelty complained of in the factories is chiefly from the slubbers. there is nobody so closely connected with the children as the slubbers. there is no other part of the machinery with which i am acquainted where the pay of the man depends on the work of the children so much.'"

"joseph badder, a slubber, deposed: 'slubbing and spinning is very heavy. those machines are thrown aside now. the spinners did not like them, nor the masters neither. they did not turn off such stuff as they expected. i always found it more difficult to keep my piecers awake the last hours of a winter's evening. i have told the master, and i have been told by him that i did not half hide them. this was when they were working from six to eight. i have known the children hide themselves in the store among the wool, so that they should not go home when the work was over, when we have worked till ten or eleven. i have seen six or eight fetched out of the store and beat home; [pg 140] beat out of the mill. however, i do not know why they should hide themselves, unless it was they were too tired to go home. my piecers had two hours for meals. other parts of the work i have known them work children, from seven to twelve in age, from six in the morning till ten or eleven at night, and give no time for meals; eat their victuals as they worked; the engines running all the time. the engine never stopped at meal-times; it was just as the spinner chose whether the children worked on or not. they made more work if they went on. i never would allow any one to touch my piecers. the foreman would come at times, and has strapped them, and i told him i would serve him the same if he touched them. i have seen the man who worked the other billy beat his piecers. i have seen children knocked down by the billy-rollers. it is a weapon that a man will easily take up in a passion. i do not know any instance of a man being prosecuted for it. the parents are unwilling, for fear the children should lose their work. i know thorpe has been up before the magistrate half a dozen times or more, on the complaint of the parents. he has been before the bench, at the exchange, as we call it, and i have seen him when he came back, when the magistrates have reprimanded thorpe, and told the parents they had better take the children away. after that he has been sometimes half drunk, perhaps, and in a passion, and would strap them for the least thing, more than he did before. i remember once that he was fined; it was about two years and a half ago; it was for beating a little girl; he was fined 10s. i have seen him strap the women when they took the part of the children. the master complained he was not strict enough. i know from thorpe that the master always paid his expenses when he was before the magistrate. i believe they generally do in all the factories. i have frequently had complaints against myself by the parents of the children, for beating them. i used to beat them. i am sure no man can do without it who works long hours; i am sure he cannot. i told them i was very sorry after i had done it, but i was forced to do it. the master expected me to do my work, and i could not do mine unless they did theirs. one lad used to say to me frequently, (he was a jocular kind of lad,) that he liked a [pg 141] good beating at times, it helped him to do his work. i used to joke with them to keep up their spirits. i have seen them fall asleep, and they have been performing their work with their hands while they were asleep, after the billy had stopped, when their work was done. i have stopped and looked at them for two minutes, going through the motions of piecening, fast asleep, when there was really no work to do, and they were really doing nothing. i believe, when we have been working long hours, that they have never been washed, but on a saturday night, for weeks together.

"thomas clarke, (examined at request of joseph badder:) 'i am aged eleven, i work at cooper's factory; the rope-walk. i spin there. i earn 4s. a week there. i have been there about one year and a half. i was in ross's factory before that. i was piecener there. i piecened for joseph badder one while, then for george castle. i piecened for badder when he left. badder told me i was wanted here. we have not been talking about it. i remember that jesse came to the machine, and badder would not let him go nigh, and so they got a scuffling about it. i was very nigh nine years of age when i first went to piecen. i got 2s. 6d. a week, at first. i think i was a good hand at it. when i had been there half a year i got 3s. badder used to strap me some odd times. some odd times he'd catch me over the head, but it was mostly on the back. he made me sing out. he has taken the billy-roller to me sometimes; about four times, i think. he used to take us over the shoulders with that; he would have done us an injury if he had struck us over the head. i never saw any one struck over the head with a billy-roller. he would strap us about twelve times at once. he used to strap us sometimes over the head. he used to strap us for letting his cards run through. i believe it was my fault. if we had had cardings to go on with we would have kept it from running through. it was nobody's fault that there were no cardings, only the slubber's fault that worked so hard. i have had, maybe, six stacks of cardings put up while he was out. when he came in, he would work harder to work down the stacks. sometimes he would stop the card. he used to strap us most when he was working hardest. he did not strap us more at night than he did in the daytime. he would [pg 142] sometimes stay half a day. when he was away, as soon as we had six stacks of cardings up, the rule was to stop, and then we'd pick up the waste about the room, and take a play sometimes, but very seldom. mr. ross paid me. badder never paid me when he was out. i never got any money from badder. i used sometimes to fall asleep. the boy next to me used often to fall asleep: john breedon; he got many a stroke. that was when we were working for castle; that would be about six o'clock. he was about the size of me; he was older than i was. they always strapped us if we fell asleep. badder was a better master than castle. castle used to get a rope, about as thick as my thumb, and double it, and put knots in it, and lick us with that. that was a good bit worse than the strap. i was to no regular master afterward; i used to do bits about the room. i ran away because thorpe used to come and strap me. he did not know what he was strapping me for; it was just as he was in his humours. i never saw such a man; he would strap any one as did not please him. i only worked for him a week or two. i didn't like it, and i ran away. he would strap me if even there was a bit of waste lying about the room. i have had marks on my back from castle's strapping me.'"

in nottingham, also, there is much cruelty shown in the treatment of the children, as will appear from the following evidence taken by mr. power:—

"williamson, the father: 'my two sons, one ten, the other thirteen, work at milnes's factory, at lenton. they go at half-past five in the morning; don't stop at breakfast or tea-time. they stop at dinner half an hour. come home at a quarter before ten. they used to work till ten, sometimes eleven, sometimes twelve. they earn between them 6s. 2d. per week. one of them, the eldest, worked at wilson's for 2 years at 2s. 3d. a week. he left because the overlooker beat him and loosened a tooth for him. i complained, and they turned him away for it. they have been gone to work sixteen hours now; they will be very tired when they come home at half-past nine. i have a deal of trouble to get [pg 143] 'em up in the morning. i have been obliged to beat 'em with a strap in their shirts, and to pinch 'em, in order to get them well awake. it made me cry to be obliged to do it.'

"'did you make them cry?' 'yes, sometimes. they will be home soon, very tired, and you will see them.' i preferred walking toward the factory to meet them. i saw the youngest only, and asked him a few questions. he said, 'i'm sure i shan't stop to talk to you; i want to go home and get to bed; i must be up at half-past five again to-morrow morning.'

"g— — and a— —, examined. the boy: 'i am going fourteen: my sister is eleven. i have worked in milnes's factory two years. she goes there also. we are both in the clearing-room. i think we work too long hours; i've been badly with it. we go at half-past five, give over at half-past nine. i'm now just come home. we sometimes stay till twelve. we are obliged to work over-hours. i have 4s. a week; that is, for staying from six till seven. they pay for over-hours besides. i asked to come away one night, lately, at eight o'clock, being ill; i was told if i went i must not come again. i am not well now. i can seldom eat any breakfast; my appetite is very bad. i have had a bad cold for a week.'

"father: 'i believe him to be ill from being over-worked. my little girl came home the other day, cruelly beaten. i took her to mr. milnes; did not see him, but showed mrs. milnes the marks. i thought of taking it before a magistrate, but was advised to let it drop. they might have turned both my children away. that man's name is blagg; he is always strapping the children. i shan't let the boy go to them much longer; i shall try to apprentice him; it's killing him by inches; he falls asleep over his food at night. i saw an account of such things in the newspaper, and thought how true it was of my own children.'

"mother: 'i have worked in the same mills myself. the same man was there then. i have seen him behave shocking to the children. he would take 'em by the hair of the head and drag 'em about the room. he has been there twelve years. there's a many young ones in that hot room. there's six of them badly now, with bad eyes and sick-headache. this boy of ours has [pg 144] always been delicate from a child. his appetite is very bad now; he does not eat his breakfast sometimes for two or three days together. the little girl bears it well; she is healthy. i should prefer their coming home at seven, without additional wages. the practice of working over-hours has been constantly pursued at milnes's factory.'

"john fortesque, at his own house, nine p.m. 'i am an overlooker in this factory. we have about one hundred hands. forty quite children; most of the remainder are young women. our regular day is from six to seven. it should be an hour for dinner, but it is only half an hour. i don't know how it comes so. we have had some bad men in authority who made themselves big; it is partly the master. no time is allowed for tea or breakfast; there used to be a quarter of an hour for each; it's altered now. we call it twelve hours a day. over-time is paid for extra. when we are busy we work over-hours. our present time is till half-past nine. it has been so all winter, and since to this time. we have some very young ones; as young as eight. i don't like to take them younger; they're not able to do our work. we have three doubling-rooms, a clearing-room, and a gassing-room. we have about forty in the clearing-room. we occasionally find it necessary to make a difference as to the time of keeping some of the children. we have done so several times. master has said: pick out the youngest, and let them go, and get some of the young women to take their places. i am not the overlooker to the clearing-room. blagg is overlooker there; there has been many complaints against him. he's forced to be roughish in order to keep his place. if he did not keep the work going on properly there would be some one to take his place who would. there are some children so obstinate and bad they must be punished. a strap is used. beating is necessary, on account of their being idle. we find it out often in this way: we give them the same number of bobbins each; when the number they ought to finish falls off, then they're corrected. they would try the patience of any man. it is not from being tired, i think. it happens as often in the middle of the day as at other times. i don't like the beating myself; i would rather there were little deductions in [pg 145] their earnings for these offences. i am sure the children would not like to have any of their earnings stopped; i am sure they would mind it. from what i have heard parents say about their children when at work, i am sure they (the parents) would prefer this mode of correction; and, i think, it would have an effect on the children. at the factory of messrs. mills and elliot they go on working all the night as well as day. i believe them to have done so for the last year and a half; they have left it off about a week. (a respectable female here entered with a petition against negro-slavery; after she was gone, mr. fortesque continued.) i think home slavery as bad as it can be abroad; worst of anywhere in the factories. the hours we work are much too long for young people. twelve hours' work is enough for young or old, confined in a close place. the work is light, but it's standing so long that tires them. i have been here about two years; i have seen bad effects produced on people's health by it, but not to any great degree. it must be much worse at mills and elliot's; working night as well as day, the rooms are never clear of people's breaths. we set our windows open when we turn the hands out. the gas, too, which they use at night, makes it worse.'"

the italicised parenthesis is, bona fide, a part of the report, as may be proved by consulting the parliamentary document. the respectable female was probably the original of dickens's mrs. jellaby.

read these references to a case of barbarity in a factory at wigan:—

extract from a speech made by mr. grant, a manchester spinner, at a meeting held at chorlton-upon-medlock; reported in the manchester courier of 20th april, 1833.

"much was said of the black slaves and their chains. no doubt they were entitled to freedom, but were there no slaves except those of sable hue? has slavery no sort of existence among children of the factories? yes, and chains were sometimes [pg 146] introduced, though those chains might not be forged of iron. he would name an instance of this kind of slavery, which took place at wigan. a child, not ten years of age, having been late at the factory one morning, had, as a punishment, a rope put round its neck, to which a weight of twenty pounds was attached; and, thus burdened like a galley-slave, it was compelled to labour for a length of time in the midst of an impure atmosphere and a heated room. [loud cries of, shame!] the truth of this has been denied by mr. richard potter, the member for wigan; but he (the speaker) reiterated its correctness. he has seen the child; and its mother's eyes were filled with tears while she told him this shocking tale of infant suffering."

extract from a speech made by mr. oastler, on the occasion of a meeting at the city of london tavern; reported in the times, of the 25th of february, 1833.

"in a mill at wigan, the children, for any slight neglect, were loaded with weights of twenty pounds, passed over their shoulders and hanging behind their backs. then there was a murderous instrument called a billy-roller, about eight feet long and one inch and a half in diameter, with which many children had been knocked down, and in some instances murdered by it."

extract from a speech made by mr. oastler, at a meeting held in the theatre at bolton, and reported in the bolton chronicle, of the 30th of march, 1833.

"in one factory they have a door which covers a quantity of cold water, in which they plunge the sleepy victim to awake it. in wigan they tie a great weight to their backs. i knew the russians made the poles carry iron weights in their exile to siberia, but it was reserved for christian england thus to use an infant."

rowland detroiser deposed before the central board of commissioners, concerning the treatment of children in the cotton factories: [pg 147]—

"'the children employed in a cotton-factory labour, are not all under the control or employed by the proprietor. a very considerable number is employed and paid by the spinners and stretchers, when there are stretchers. these are what are called piecers and scavengers; the youngest children being employed in the latter capacity, and as they grow up, for a time in the scavengers and piecers. in coarse mills, that is, mills in which low numbers of yarn are spun, the wages of the scavengers is commonly from 1s. 6d. to 2s. 6d., according to size and ability. the men do not practise the system of fining, generally speaking, and especially toward these children. the sum which they earn is so small it would be considered by many a shame to make it less. they do not, however, scruple to give them a good bobbying, as it is called; that is, beating them with a rope thickened at one end, or, in some few brutal instances, with the combined weapons of fist and foot.'

"'but this severity, you say, is practised toward the children who are employed by the men, and not employed by the masters?' 'yes.'

"'and the men inflict the punishment?' 'yes.'

"'not the overlookers?' 'not in these instances.'

"'but how do you reconcile your statement with the fact that the men have been the principal complainers of the cruelties practised toward the children, and also the parties who are most active in endeavouring to obtain for the children legislative protection?' 'my statement is only fact. i do not profess to reconcile the apparent inconsistency. the men are in some measure forced by circumstances into the practice of that severity of which i have spoken.'

"'will you explain these circumstances?' 'the great object in a cotton mill is to turn as much work off as possible, in order to compensate by quantity for the smallness of the profit. to that end every thing is made subservient. there are two classes of superintendents in those establishments. the first class are what are called managers, from their great power and authority. their especial business is to watch over the whole concern, and constantly to attend to the quantity and quality of the yarn, &c. [pg 148] turned off. to these individuals the second class, called overlookers, are immediately responsible for whatever is amiss. the business of overlookers is to attend to particular rooms and classes of hands, for the individual conduct of which they are held responsible. these individuals, in some mills, are paid in proportion to the quantity of work turned off; in all, they are made responsible for that quantity, as well as for the quality; and as the speed of each particular machine is known, nothing is more easy than to calculate the quantity which it ought to produce. this quantity is the maximum; the minimum allowed is the least possible deficiency, certain contingencies being taken into account. in those mills in which the overlookers are paid in proportion to the quantity of work turned off, interest secures the closest attention to the conduct of every individual under them; and in other mills, fear of losing their places operates to produce the same effect. it is one continual system of driving; and, in order to turn off as great a quantity of work as is possible, the manager drives the overlookers, and the overlookers drive the men. every spinner knows that he must turn off the average quantity of work which his wheels are capable of producing, or lose his place if deficiencies are often repeated; and consequently, the piecers and scavengers are drilled, in their turns, to the severest attention. on their constant attention, as well as his own, depends the quantity of work done. so that it is not an exaggeration to say, that their powers of labour are subjected to the severity of an undeviating exaction. a working man is estimated in these establishments in proportion to his physical capacity rather than his moral character, and therefore it is not difficult to infer what must be the consequences. it begets a system of debasing tyranny in almost every department, the most demoralizing in its effects. kind words are godsends in many cotton factories, and oaths and blows the usual order of the day. the carder must produce the required quantity of drawing and roving; the spinner, the required quantity of yarn; a system of overbearing tyranny is adopted toward everybody under them; they are cursed into the required degree of attention, and blows are resorted to with the children when oaths fail, and sometimes [pg 149] even before an oath has been tried. in short, the men must do work enough, or lose their places. it is a question between losing their places and the exercise of severity of discipline in all cases; between starvation and positive cruelty, in many. there are exceptions, but my conviction is that they are comparatively few indeed. to me the whole system has always appeared one of tyranny."

mr. abraham whitehead, clothier, of scholes, near holmfirth, examined by parliamentary committee:—

"'what has been the treatment which you have observed that these children have received at the mills, to keep them attentive for so many hours, at so early ages?' 'they are generally cruelly treated; so cruelly treated that they dare not, hardly for their lives, be too late at their work in the morning. when i have been at the mills in the winter season, when the children are at work in the evening, the very first thing they inquire is, "what o'clock is it?" if we should answer, "seven," they say, "only seven! it is a great while to ten, but we must not give up till ten o'clock, or past." they look so anxious to know what o'clock it is that i am convinced the children are fatigued, and think that, even at seven, they have worked too long. my heart has been ready to bleed for them when i have seen them so fatigued, for they appear in such a state of apathy and insensibility as really not to know whether they are doing their work or not. they usually throw a bunch of ten or twelve cordings across the hand, and take one off at a time; but i have seen the bunch entirely finished, and they have attempted to take off another, when they have not had a cording at all; they have been so fatigued as not to know whether they were at work or not.'

"'do they frequently fall into errors and mistakes in piecing when thus fatigued?' 'yes; the errors they make when thus fatigued are, that instead of placing the cording in this way, (describing it,) they are apt to place them obliquely, and that causes a flying, which makes bad yarn; and when the billy-spinner sees that, he takes his strap, or the billy-roller, and says, [pg 150] "damn thee, close it; little devil, close it;" and they strike the child with the strap or billy roller.'

"'you have noticed this in the after part of the day more particularly?' 'it is a very difficult thing to go into a mill in the latter part of the day, particularly in winter, and not to hear some of the children crying for being beaten for this very fault.'

"'how are they beaten?' 'that depends on the humanity of the slubber or billy-spinner. some have been beaten so violently that they have lost their lives in consequence of being so beaten; and even a young girl has had the end of a billy-roller jammed through her cheek.'

"'what is the billy-roller?' 'a heavy rod of from two to three yards long, and of two inches in diameter, and with an iron pivot at each end. it runs on the top of the cording, over the feeding-cloth. i have seen them take the billy-roller and rap them on the head, making their heads crack so that you might have heard the blow at a distance of six or eight yards, in spite of the din and rolling of the machinery. many have been knocked down by the instrument. i knew a boy very well, of the name of senior, with whom i went to school; he was struck with a billy-roller on the elbow; it occasioned a swelling; he was not able to work more than three or four weeks after the blow; and he died in consequence. there was a woman in holmfirth who was beaten very much: i am not quite certain whether on the head; and she lost her life in consequence of being beaten with a billy-roller. that which was produced (showing one) is not the largest size; there are some a foot longer than that; it is the most common instrument with which these poor little pieceners are beaten, more commonly than with either stick or strap.'

"'how is it detached from the machinery?' 'supposing this to be the billy-frame, (describing it,) at each end there is a socket open; the cording runs underneath here, just in this way, and when the billy-spinner is angry, and sees the little piecener has done wrong, he takes off this and says, "damn thee, close it."'

"'you have seen the poor children in this situation?' 'i have seen them frequently struck with the billy-roller; i have seen [pg 151] one so struck as to occasion its death; but i once saw a piecener struck in the face by a billy-spinner with his hand, until its nose bled very much; and when i said, "oh dear, i would not suffer a child of mine to be treated thus," the man has said "how the devil do you know but what he deserved it? what have you to do with it?"'"

but the most complete evidence in regard to the slavery in the factories was that given to the parliamentary committee, by a man named peter smart, whose experience and observation as a slave and a slave-driver in the factories of scotland, enabled him to substantiate all the charges made against the system. his history possesses the deepest interest, and should be attentively perused:—

"'where do you reside?' 'at dundee.'

"'what age are you?' 'twenty-seven.'

"'what is your business?' 'an overseer of a flax-mill.'

"'have you worked in a mill from your youth?' 'yes, since i was five years of age.'

"'had you a father and mother in the country at that time?' 'my mother stopped in perth, about eleven miles from the mill, and my father was in the army.'

"'were you hired for any length of time when you went?' 'yes, my mother got 15s. for six years, i having my meat and clothes.'

"'at whose mill?' 'mr. andrew smith's, at gateside.'

"'is that in fifeshire?' 'yes.'

"'what were your hours of labour, do you recollect, in that mill?' 'in the summer season we were very scarce of water.'

"'but when you had sufficient water, how long did you work?' 'we began at four o'clock in the morning, and worked till ten or eleven at night; as long as we could stand upon our feet.'

[pg 152]

"'you hardly could keep up for that length of time?' 'no, we often fell asleep.'

"'how were you kept to your work for that length of time; were you chastised?' 'yes, very often, and very severely.'

"'how long was this ago?' 'it is between twenty-one and twenty-two years since i first went.'

"'were you kept in the premises constantly?' 'constantly.'

"'locked up?' 'yes, locked up.'

"'night and day?' 'night and day; i never went home while i was at the mill.'

"'was it possible to keep up your activity for such a length of time as that?' 'no, it was impossible to do it; we often fell asleep.'

"'were not accidents then frequently occurring at that mill from over-fatigue?' 'yes, i got my hands injured there by the machinery.'

"'have you lost any of your fingers?' 'yes, i have lost one, and the other hand is very much injured.'

"'at what time of the night was that when your hands became thus injured?' 'twilight, between seven and eight o'clock.'

"'do you attribute that accident to over-fatigue and drowsiness?' 'yes, and to a want of knowledge of the machinery. i was only five years old when i went to the mills, and i did not know the use of the different parts of the machinery.'

"'did you ever know any other accident happen in that mill?' 'yes, there was a girl that fell off her stool when she was piecing; she fell down and was killed on the spot.'

"'was that considered by the hands in the mill to have been occasioned by drowsiness and excessive fatigue?' 'yes.'

"'how old were you at the time this took place?' 'i don't know, for i have been so long in the mills that i have got no education, and i have forgot the like of those things.'

"'have you any recollection of what the opinions of the people in the mill were at that time as to the cause of the accident?' 'i heard the rest of them talking about it, and they said that it was so. we had long stools that we sat upon then, old-fashioned; we have no such things as those now.'

[pg 153]

"'is that the only accident that you have known to happen in that mill?' 'there was a boy, shortly before i got my fingers hurt, that had his fingers hurt in the same way that i had.'

"'was there any other killed?' 'there was one killed, but i could not say how it was; but she was killed in the machinery.'

"'has any accident happened in that mill during the last twelve years?' 'i could not say; it is twelve years since i left it.'

"'is that mill going on still?' 'yes.'

"'speaking of the hours that you had to labour there, will you state to this committee the effect it had upon you?' 'it had a very great effect upon me; i was bad in my health.'

"'were you frequently much beaten, in order to keep you up to your labour?' 'yes; very often beat till i was bloody at the mouth and at the nose, by the overseer and master too.'

"'how did they beat you?' 'with their hands and with a leather thong.'

"'were the children, generally speaking, treated as you have stated you were?' 'yes; generally; there are generally fifteen boys in one, and a number of girls in the other; they were kept separately.'

"'you say you were locked up night and day?' 'yes.'

"'do the children ever attempt to run away?' 'very often.'

"'were they pursued and brought back again?' 'yes, the overseer pursued them, and brought them back.'

"'did you ever attempt to run away?' 'yes, i ran away twice.'

"'and you were brought back?' 'yes; and i was sent up to the master's loft, and thrashed with a whip for running away.'

"'were you bound to this man?' 'yes, for six years.'

"'by whom were you bound?' 'my mother got 15s. for the six years.'

"'do you know whether the children were, in point of fact, compelled to stop during the whole time for which they were engaged?' 'yes, they were.'

"'by law?' 'i cannot say by law; but they were compelled by the master; i never saw any law used there but the law of their own hands.'

[pg 154]

"'does that practice of binding continue in scotland now?' 'not in the place i am in.'

"'how long since it has ceased?' 'for the last two years there has been no engagement in dundee.'

"'are they generally engagements from week to week, or from month to month?' 'from month to month.'

"'do you know whether a practice has prevailed of sending poor children, who are orphans, from workhouses and hospitals to that work?' 'there were fifteen, at the time i was there, came from edinburgh poorhouse.'

"'do you know what the poorhouse in edinburgh is?' 'it is just a house for putting poor orphans in.'

"'do you know the name of that establishment?' 'no.'

"'do you happen to know that these fifteen came to the mill from an establishment for the reception of poor orphans?' 'yes.'

"'how many had you at the mill?' 'fifteen.'

"'at what ages?' 'from 12 to 15.'

"'were they treated in a similar manner to yourself?' 'yes, we were all treated alike; there was one treatment for all, from the oldest to the youngest.'

"'did not some of you attempt, not merely to get out of the mill, but out of the country?' 'yes; i have known some go down to the boat at dundee, in order to escape by that means, and the overseer has caught them there, and brought them back again.'

"'is there not a ferry there?' 'yes.'

"'when persons disembark there, they may embark on the ferry?' 'yes.'

"'did your parents live in dundee at this time?' 'no.'

"'had you any friends at dundee?' 'no.'

"'the fact is, that you had nobody that could protect you?' 'no, i had no protection; the first three years i was at the mill i never saw my mother at all; and when i got this accident with my hand she never knew of it.'

"'where did she reside at that time?' 'at perth.'

"'you say that your master himself was in the habit of treating you in the way you have mentioned?' 'yes.'

"'describe what the treatment was?' 'the treatment was [pg 155] very bad; perhaps a box on the ear, or very frequently a kick with his foot.'

"'were you punished for falling asleep in that mill?' 'yes, i have got my licks for it, and been punished very severely for it.'

"'where did you go to then?' 'i went to a mill in argyleshire.'

"'how many years were you in this mill of mr. andrew smith's, of gateside?' 'eleven years.'

"'what age were you, when you went to this mill in argyleshire?' 'about 16.'

"'you stated that you were bound to stay with mr. smith for six years; how came you then to continue with him the remaining five years?' 'at the end of those six years i got 3l. a year from my master, and found my own clothes out of that.'

"'were you then contented with your situation?' 'no, i cannot say that i was; but i did not know any thing of any other business.'

"'you had not been instructed in any other business, and you did not know where you could apply for a maintenance?' 'no.'

"'to whose mill did you then remove?' 'to messrs. duff, taylor & co., at ruthven, forfarshire.'

"'what were your hours of labour there?' 'fourteen hours.'

"'exclusive of the time for meals and refreshment?' 'yes.'

"'was that a flax mill?' 'yes.'

"'did you work for that number of hours both winter and summer?' 'yes, both winter and summer.'

"'how old were you at this time?' 'sixteen.'

"'are you aware whether any increase was made in the number of hours of work, in the year 1819, by an agreement between the masters and the workmen?' 'no, i cannot say as to that.'

"'you think there could not be much increase of your previous labour, whatever agreement might have been made upon the subject?' 'no, there could have been no increase made to that; it was too long for that.'

"'were the hands chastised up to their labour in that mill?' 'yes.'

[pg 156]

"'that was the practice there also?' 'yes.'

"'do you mean to state that you were treated with great cruelty at the age of 16, and that you still remain in the mill?' 'i was not beaten so severely as i was in fifeshire.'

"'you were not so beaten as to induce you to leave that mill?' 'if i had left it, i did not know where to go.'

"'did you try to get into any other occupation?' 'yes, i went apprentice to a flax-dresser at that time.'

"'what was the reason that you did not keep at it?' 'my hand was so disabled, that it was found i was not able to follow that business.'

"'you found you could not get your bread at that business?' 'yes.'

"'consequently, you were obliged to go back to the mills?' 'yes.'

"'was it the custom, when you were 16 years of age, for the overseer to beat you?' 'yes, the boys were often beaten very severely in the mill.'

"'at this time you were hired for wages; how much had you?' 'half-a-crown a week.'

"'and your maintenance?' 'no, i maintained myself.'

"'is not that much lower than the wages now given to people of sixteen years of age?' 'i have a boy about sixteen that has 4s. 6d. a week, but he is in a high situation; he is oiler of the machinery.'

"'besides, you have been injured in your hand by the accident to which you have alluded, and that probably might have interfered with the amount of your wages?' 'yes.'

"'what duty had you in the mill at this time, for the performance of which you received 2s. 6d. a week, when you were at duff, taylor & co.'s?' 'i was a card-feeder.'

"'did your hand prevent you working at that time as well as other boys of the same age, in feeding the cards?' 'yes, on the old system; i was not able to feed with a stick at that time; it is done away with now.'

"'how long did you stay there?' 'about fifteen months.'

"'how many hours did you work there?' 'fourteen.'

[pg 157]

"'do you mean that you worked fourteen hours actual labour?' 'yes.'

"'was it a water-mill?' 'yes.'

"'were you ever short of water?' 'we had plenty of water.'

"'how long did you stop for dinner?' 'half an hour.'

"'what time had you for breakfast, or for refreshment in the afternoon?' 'we had no time for that.'

"'did you eat your breakfast and dinner in the mill then?' 'no, we went to the victualling house.'

"'was that some building attached to the mill?' 'yes, at a a small distance from the mill.'

"'was it provided for the purpose of the mill?' 'yes, we got our bread and water there.'

"'did you sleep in a bothy at duff & taylor's?' 'yes.'

"'were you locked up in a bothy?' 'no.'

"'what is a bothy?' 'it is a house with beds all round.'

"'is it not the practice for farm-servants, and others, who are unmarried, to sleep in such places?' 'i could not say as to that; i am not acquainted with the farm system.'

"'to what mill did you next go?' 'to mr. webster's, at battus den, within eleven miles of dundee.'

"'in what situation did you act there?' 'i acted as an overseer.'

"'at 17 years of age?' 'yes.'

"'did you inflict the same punishment that you yourself had experienced?' 'i went as an overseer; not as a slave, but as a slave-driver.'

"'what were the hours of labour in that mill?' 'my master told me that i had to produce a certain quantity of yarn; the hours were at that time fourteen; i said that i was not able to produce the quantity of yarn that was required; i told him if he took the timepiece out of the mill i would produce that quantity, and after that time i found no difficulty in producing the quantity.'

"'how long have you worked per day in order to produce the quantity your master required?' 'i have wrought nineteen hours.'

"'was this a water-mill?' 'yes, water and steam both.'

[pg 158]

"'to what time have you worked?' 'i have seen the mill going till it was past 12 o'clock on the saturday night.'

"'so that the mill was still working on the sabbath morning.' 'yes.'

"'were the workmen paid by the piece, or by the day?' 'no, all had stated wages.'

"'did not that almost compel you to use great severity to the hands then under you?' 'yes; i was compelled often to beat them, in order to get them to attend to their work, from their being overwrought.'

"'were not the children exceedingly fatigued at that time?' 'yes, exceedingly fatigued.'

"'were the children bound in the same way in that mill?' 'no; they were bound from one year's end to another, for twelve months.'

"'did you keep the hands locked up in the same way in that mill?' 'yes, we locked up the mill; but we did not lock the bothy.'

"'did you find that the children were unable to pursue their labour properly to that extent?' 'yes; they have been brought to that condition, that i have gone and fetched up the doctor to them, to see what was the matter with them, and to know whether they were able to rise, or not able to rise; they were not at all able to rise; we have had great difficulty in getting them up.'

"'when that was the case, how long have they been in bed, generally speaking?' 'perhaps not above four or five hours in their beds. sometimes we were very ill-plagued by men coming about the females' bothy.'

"'were your hands principally girls?' 'girls and boys all together; we had only a very few boys.'

"'did the boys sleep in the girls' bothy?' 'yes, all together.'

"'do you mean to say that there was only one bothy for the girls and for the boys who worked there?' 'yes.'

"'what age were those girls and boys?' 'we had them from 8 to 20 years of age; and the boys were from 10 to 14, or thereabouts.'

[pg 159]

"'you spoke of men who came about the bothy; did the girls expect them?' 'yes; of course they had their sweethearts.'

"'did they go into the bothy?' 'yes; and once i got a sore beating from one of them, for ordering him out of the bothy.'

"'how long were you in that mill?' 'three years and nine months.'

"'and where did you go to next?' 'to messrs. anderson & company, at moneyfieth, about six miles from dundee.'

"'what were your hours of labour there?' 'fifteen hours.'

"'exclusive of the hour for refreshment?' 'yes; we seldom stopped for refreshment there.'

"'you worked without any intermission at all, frequently?' 'yes; we made a turn-about.'

"'explain what you mean by a turn-about?' 'we let them out by turns in the days.'

"'how long did you let one go out?' 'just as short a time as they could have to take their victuals in.'

"'what were the ages of the children principally employed in that place?' 'from about 12 to 20; they were all girls that i had there, except one boy, and i think he was 8 years of age.'

"'was this a flax-mill?' 'yes, all flax.'

"'did you find that the children there were exceedingly distressed with their work?' 'yes; for the mill being in the country, we were very scarce of workers, and the master often came out and compelled them by flattery to go and work half the night after their day's labour, and then they had only the other half to sleep.'

"'you mean that the master induced them by offering them extra wages to go to work half the night?' 'yes.'

"'was that very prejudicial to the girls so employed?' 'yes; i have seen some girls that were working half the night, that have fainted and fallen down at their work, and have had to be carried out.'

"'did you use severity in that mill?' 'no, i was not very severe there.'

"'you find, perhaps, that the girls do not require that severity that the boys do?' 'yes.'

[pg 160]

"'how large was that mill?' 'there were only eighteen of us altogether.'

"'from what you have seen, should you say that the treatment of the children and the hours of labour are worse in the small or in the large mills?' 'i could not answer that question.'

"'have you ever been in any large mill?' 'yes, i am in one just now, mr. baxter's.'

"'is the treatment of the children better in that large mill than in the smaller mills in which you have been usually?' 'there is little difference; the treatment is all one.'

"'to whose mill did you next go?' 'to messrs. baxter & brothers, at dundee.'

"'state the hours of labour which you worked when you were there, when trade was brisk?' 'thirteen hours and twenty minutes.'

"'what time was allowed for meals?' 'fifty minutes each day.'

"'have you found that the system is getting any better now?' 'no, the system is getting no better with us.'

"'is there as much beating as there was?' 'there is not so much in the licking way.'

"'but it is not entirely abolished, the system of chastisement?' 'no, it is far from that.'

"'do you think that, where young children are employed, that system ought, or can be, entirely dispensed with, of giving some chastisement to the children of that age?' 'they would not require chastisement if they had shorter daily work.'

"'do you mean to state that they are only chastised because through weariness they are unable to attend to their work, and that they are not chastised for other faults and carelessness as well?' 'there may be other causes besides, but weariness is the principal fault.'

"'does not that over-labour induce that weariness and incapacity to do the work, which brings upon them chastisement at other parts of the day as well as in the evening?' 'yes; young girls, if their work go wrong, if they see me going round, and my countenance with the least frown upon it, they will begin crying when i go by.'

[pg 161]

"'then they live in a state of perpetual alarm and suffering?' 'yes.'

"'do you think that those children are healthy?' 'no, they are far from that; i have two girls that have been under me these two years; the one is 13 years, the other 15, and they are both orphans and sisters, and both one size, and they very seldom are working together, because the one or the other is generally ill; and they are working for 3s. 6d. a week.'

"'have you the same system of locking up now?' 'yes, locking up all day.'

"'are they locked up at night?' 'no; after they have left their work we have nothing more to do with them.'

"'what time do they leave their work in the evening now?' 'about 20 minutes past 7.'

"'what time do they go to it in the morning?' 'five minutes before 5.'

"'do you conceive that that is at all consistent with the health of those children?' 'it is certainly very greatly against their health.'

"'is not the flax-spinning business in itself very unwholesome?' 'very unwholesome.'

so much for the slavery of the factories—a slavery which destroys human beings, body and soul. the fate of the helpless children condemned to such protracted, exhausting toil, under such demoralizing influences, with the lash constantly impending over them, and no alternative but starvation, is enough to excite the tears of all humane persons. that such a system should be tolerated in a land where a christian church is a part of the government, is indeed remarkable—proving how greatly men are disinclined to practise what they profess.

[pg 162]

we cannot close this chapter upon the british factories without making a quotation from a work which, we fear, has been too little read in the united kingdom—a fiction merely in construction, a truthful narrative in fact. we allude to "the life and adventures of michael armstrong, the factory boy," by frances trollope. copious editions of this heart-rending story should be immediately issued by the british publishers. this passage, describing the visit of michael armstrong to the cotton factory, in company with sir matthew dowling and dr. crockley, is drawn to the life:—

"the party entered the building, whence—as all know who have done the like—every sight, every sound, every scent that kind nature has fitted to the organs of her children, so as to render the mere unfettered use of them a delight, are banished for ever and for ever. the ceaseless whirring of a million hissing wheels seizes on the tortured ear; and while threatening to destroy the delicate sense, seems bent on proving first, with a sort of mocking mercy, of how much suffering it can be the cause. the scents that reek around, from oil, tainted water, and human filth, with that last worst nausea arising from the hot refuse of atmospheric air, left by some hundred pairs of labouring lungs, render the act of breathing a process of difficulty, disgust, and pain. all this is terrible. but what the eye brings home to the heart of those who look round upon the horrid earthly hell, is enough to make it all forgotten; for who can think of villanous smells, or heed the suffering of the ear-racking sounds, while they look upon hundreds of helpless children, divested of every trace of health, of joyousness, and even of youth! assuredly there is no exaggeration in this; for except only in their diminutive size, these suffering infants have no trace of it. lean and [pg 163] distorted limbs, sallow and sunken cheeks, dim hollow eyes, that speak unrest and most unnatural carefulness, give to each tiny, trembling, unelastic form, a look of hideous premature old age.

"but in the room they entered, the dirty, ragged, miserable crew were all in active performance of their various tasks; the overlookers, strap in hand, on the alert; the whirling spindles urging the little slaves who waited on them to movements as unceasing as their own; and the whole monstrous chamber redolent of all the various impurities that 'by the perfection of our manufacturing system' are converted into 'gales of araby' for the rich, after passing, in the shape of certain poison, through the lungs of the poor. so sir matthew proudly looked about him and approved; and though it was athwart that species of haughty frown in which such dignity as his is apt to clothe itself, dr. crockley failed not to perceive that his friend and patron was in good humour, and likely to be pleased by any light and lively jestings in which he might indulge. perceiving, therefore, that little michael passed on with downcast eyes, unrecognised by any, he wrote upon a slip of paper, for he knew his voice could not be heard—'make the boy take that bare-legged scavenger wench round the neck, and give her a kiss while she is next lying down, and let us see them sprawling together.'

"sir matthew read the scroll, and grinned applause.

"the miserable creature to whom the facetious doctor pointed, was a little girl about seven years old, whose office as 'scavenger' was to collect incessantly, from the machinery and from the floor, the flying fragments of cotton that might impede the work. in the performance of this duty, the child was obliged, from time to time, to stretch itself with sudden quickness on the ground, while the hissing machinery passed over her; and when this is skilfully done, and the head, body, and outstretched limbs carefully glued to the floor, the steady-moving but threatening mass may pass and repass over the dizzy head and trembling body without touching it. but accidents frequently occur; and many are the flaxen locks rudely torn from infant heads, in the process.

"it was a sort of vague hope that something comical of this kind [pg 164] might occur, which induced dr. crockley to propose this frolic to his friend, and probably the same idea suggested itself to sir matthew likewise.

"'i say, master michael!' vociferated the knight, in a scream which successfully struggled with the din, 'show your old acquaintance that pride has not got the upper hand of you in your fine clothes. take scavenger no. 3, there, round the neck; now—now—now, as she lies sprawling, and let us see you give her a hearty kiss.'

"the stern and steady machinery moved onward, passing over the body of the little girl, who owed her safety to the miserable leanness of her shrunken frame; but michael moved not.

"'are you deaf, you little vermin?' roared sir matthew. 'now she's down again. do what i bid you, or, by the living god, you shall smart for it!'

"still michael did not stir, neither did he speak; or if he did, his young voice was wholly inaudible, and the anger of sir matthew was demonstrated by a clenched fist and threatening brow. 'where the devil is parsons?' he demanded, in accents that poor michael both heard and understood. 'fine as he is, the strap will do him good.'

"in saying this, the great man turned to reconnoitre the space he had traversed, and by which his confidential servant must approach, and found that he was already within a good yard of him.

"'that's good—i want you, parsons. do you see this little rebel here, that i have dressed and treated like one of my own children? what d'ye think of his refusing to kiss miss no. 3, scavenger, when i bid him?'

"'the devil he does?' said the manager, grinning: 'we must see if we can't mend that. mind your hits, master piecer, and salute the young lady when the mules go back, like a gentleman.'

"sir matthew perceived that his favourite agent feared to enforce his first brutal command, and was forced, therefore, to content himself with seeing the oiled and grimy face of the filthy little girl in contact with that of the now clean and delicate-looking [pg 165] michael. but he felt he had been foiled, and cast a glance upon his protégé, which seemed to promise that he would not forget it."

nor is the delineation, in the following verses, by francis m. blake, less truthful and touching:—

the factory child.

early one winter's morning,

the weather wet and wild,

some hours before the dawning,

a father call'd his child;

her daily morsel bringing,

the darksome room he paced,

and cried, "the bell is ringing—

my hapless darling, haste."

"father, i'm up, but weary,

i scarce can reach the door,

and long the way and dreary—

oh, carry me once more!

to help us we've no mother,

to live how hard we try—

they kill'd my little brother—

like him i'll work and die!"

his feeble arms they bore her,

the storm was loud and wild—

god of the poor man, hear him!

he prays, "oh, save my child!"

her wasted form seem'd nothing—

the load was in his heart;

the sufferer he kept soothing,

till at the mill they part.

the overlooker met her, [pg 166]

as to the frame she crept,

and with the thong he beat her,

and cursed her as she wept.

alas! what hours of horror

made up her latest day!

in toil, and pain, and sorrow,

they slowly pass'd away.

it seem'd, as she grew weaker,

the threads the oftener broke,

the rapid wheels ran quicker,

and heavier fell the stroke.

the sun had long descended,

but night brought no repose:

her day began and ended

as her task-masters chose.

then to her little neighbour

her only cent she paid,

to take her last hour's labour,

while by her frame she laid.

at last, the engine ceasing,

the captives homeward flee,

one thought her strength increasing—

her parent soon to see.

she left, but oft she tarried,

she fell, and rose no more,

but by her comrades carried,

she reach'd her father's door.

all night with tortured feeling,

he watch'd his speechless child;

while close beside her kneeling,

she knew him not, nor smiled.

again the loud bell's ringing, [pg 167]

her last perceptions tried,

when, from her straw bed springing,

"'tis time!" she shriek'd, and—died.

that night a chariot pass'd her,

while on the ground she lay,

the daughters of her master

an evening visit pay;

their tender hearts were sighing,

as negro wrongs were told,

while the white slave was dying,

who gain'd their father's gold!