Part 7

CHARTISM

Such was the condition of the manufacturing population of England in the early days of the factory system. It is evident that these conditions must inevitably give rise to a deep social discontent which sooner or later must become articulate, and we find from the very beginning of the factory system the records of innumerable riots.

The history of these disturbances begins with the opposition to the introduction of new machinery. Rebellious craftsmen bound themselves by fearful oaths into secret organizations, the members of which were known as Luddites, from the name of their legendary leader—Ben Ludd. His name was the password to their secret meetings, at which plans were made for the destruction of property, plans afterwards carried out with open violence. Then followed innumerable riots arising from that growing social discontent which led in the beginning to factory legislation, and later to Parliamentary reform. It must not be thought that only the factory folk were discontented. The unrest was general throughout the lower classes; it was felt, moreover, in the ranks of the rapidly growing middle class, and the justice of the demand for better conditions was admitted now and then by individuals in the governing class—men of the broader vision. I have in my possession an interesting pamphlet containing the proceedings in the trial of indictment against Thomas Walker, a merchant of Manchester, and others, for a conspiracy to overthrow the constitution and government and to assist the French, the King’s enemies, should they invade the Kingdom. The case was tried at the Assizes at Lancaster, in 1794, and the account throws light upon the true state of the public mind in Manchester at that time.

Thomas Walker, so it appeared to his accusers, was a pernicious, seditious, and ill-disposed person, greatly disaffected to the King, and who did in the hearing of divers liege subjects utter the words: “What are kings! Damn the King!” Moreover, Mr. Thomas Walker was a member of the Manchester Reformation Society, a body composed chiefly of working people. They met at a public house—the Old Boar’s Head, where the works of Tom Paine were read aloud over innumerable pots of ale; and a correspondence was carried on with the Society of the Friends of the People in London and with other more questionable organizations. The publican, warned by the magistrates that he must no longer give entertainment to this society, turned the reformers into the streets, whereupon they sought shelter in the warehouse of Mr. Walker. Here it was alleged they were trained in the use of firearms; and here one night they were attacked by members of the Church and King Club, and a riot ensued. The Reformation Society, however, maintained that the sole object of their meetings was to obtain, by constitutional means, an adequate representation of the people in Parliament.

Discontent continues rife in Manchester, increasing with each year, and at last we come to an event which typifies to all time this upward struggle of toiling humanity—the massacre on St. Peter’s Field which occurred on the 16th of August, 1819. Throughout the whole preceding summer, on account of the distressed condition of trade, discontent had been rife in the manufacturing towns; agitation was at white heat; and the voice of the demagogue was heard with that of the conscientious reformer. It was proposed to hold at Manchester on the 9th of August an immense meeting to consider the election by the unrepresented inhabitants of Manchester of a Parliamentary delegate; but the purpose of this meeting was declared illegal and it was prohibited by the authorities. Then another meeting was advertised to take place on the 16th of August, the stated object being to consider the most legal and effectual means of obtaining Parliamentary reform. It was said that this meeting was attended by over one hundred thousand persons.

Several of the divisions that composed the assembly came upon the field in regular military formations, accompanied by bands of music and preceded by banners bearing such mottoes as “Equal Representation or Death.” Many of the marchers were armed with bludgeons. Most of the columns, however, marched in silence; and except for the loud shouts of defiance on the appearance of the yeomen cavalry, sent to disperse the meeting, there was no disturbance on the part of the populace.

The assembly was in charge of Henry Hunt, the famous radical, who, mounting the platform which had been erected upon a cart had just commenced his opening speech when the civil authorities attempted to arrest him. This the mob resisted, whereupon the yeoman cavalry shouting, “Have down with their banners!” charged upon the field, put the crowds to flight, and in the disorder which followed, a number were killed and many were wounded.

Says Carlyle: “Who shall compute the waste and loss, the obstruction of every sort, that was produced in the Manchester region by Peterloo alone. Some thirteen unarmed men and women cut down—the number of the slain and maimed is very countable; but the treasury of rage, burning hidden or visible in all hearts ever since, is of unknown extent. ‘How ye came among us, in your cruel armed blindness, ye unspeakable County Yeomanry, sabres flourishing, hoofs prancing, and slashed us down at your brute pleasure; deaf, blind to all our claims, and woes and wrongs; of quick sight and sense to your own claims only. There lie poor sallow, workworn weavers, and complain no more now; women themselves are slashed and sabred, howling terror fills the air; and ye ride prosperous, very victorious,—ye unspeakable: Give us sabres too and then come on a little!’”

The treasury of rage burning hidden became visible to all. Chartism—the demand of the people for equal political rights—sprang into being; the outward and visible sign of inward suppressed discontent filled the manufacturing towns with unrestrained murmurings, and government felt the castle of privilege trembling at its foundation. Some days later Sidmouth, writing from Whitehall, congratulated the yeomanry in the name of the Prince Regent for their effective services in preserving public tranquillity. Public tranquillity indeed! The cries of those stricken weavers shall yet shake the empire of Britain.

Peterloo was typical of the discontent which had spread throughout the laboring population of England. Parliament was assembled in special session to consider the state of the country and to enact measures for the suppression of disorder. Lord Grenfell in a brilliant speech discussed sedition, declaring that the whole nation was inundated with inflammatory publications intended to stimulate the multitude to acts of savage violence against all who were eminent for birth or rank, for talent or virtue. Mr. Canning placed the blame entirely upon discontented radicals, underrating the wide-spread demand for parliamentary reform, and advocated the acts which were passed prohibiting meetings like the one held in Manchester, and in other ways restricting the liberties of the masses in discussing social conditions. All of these acts tended to increase the discontent and hasten forward that reform which alone could save England from revolution.

All famous Englishmen, however, did not view Peterloo with the eyes of Lord Grenfell or Mr. Canning. Writing to Thomas Love Peacock, Shelley said: “Many thanks for your attention in sending the papers which contained the terrible and important news of Manchester. These are, as it were, the distant thunders of the terrible storm which is approaching. The tyrants here, as in the French Revolution, have first shed blood. May their execrable lessons not be learnt with equal docility.” Inspired by the Manchester massacre, Shelley wrote “The Masque of Anarchy,” the spirit of which is summed up in these stanzas:—

“Men of England, heirs of Glory, Heroes of unwritten story, Nurselings of one mighty Mother, Hopes of her, and one another;

“Rise like Lions after slumber In unvanquishable number, Shake your chains to earth like dew Which in sleep has fallen on you— Ye are many—they are few.”

And in the same year he wrote:—

“Men of England, wherefore plough For the Lords who lay ye low? Wherefore weave with toil and care The rich robes your tyrants wear?

“Wherefore feed, and clothe, and save, From the cradle to the grave, Those ungrateful drones who would Drain your sweat—nay, drink your blood?

“The seed ye sow, another reaps; The wealth ye find, another keeps; The robes ye weave, another wears; The arms ye forge, another bears.

“Sow seed,—but let no tyrant reap; Find wealth,—let no impostor heap; Weave robes,—let not the idle wear; Forge arms,—in your defense to bear.”

Fortunately the appeal to arms was unnecessary. The working classes of England were destined to exemplify Shelley’s lesson,—but by peaceful means,—were destined to teach the world the great truth that the many, if accordant and resolute, can always control the few. And this peaceful conquest is recorded in the history of Chartism.

I have known many labor agitators living in the City of the Dinner Pail, and almost without exception these men were the sons of English Chartists. From them I had learned to honor the early British labor agitator, and to give to the name of pothouse politician something more than a contemptuous meaning. At the Old Boar’s Head, in Manchester, and at many another less famous public house in the manufacturing cities, groups of workingmen gathered, evening after evening to discuss their wrongs; and over many a pot of ale, and through many a cloud of tobacco smoke, there emerged at last certain definite demands for reform.

Workingmen and radicals joined hands; liberal leaders combined with working-class leaders, and presently there was issued the famous Charter with its six points,—manhood suffrage, annual parliaments, the ballot, abolition of property qualifications, payment of members, and equality of electoral districts. A very sober programme this, but popular leaders like Fergus O’Connor and Ernest Jones with incendiary oratory gave it a revolutionary aspect.

So the discontent grew year by year, and year by year it gathered force. Events in France and elsewhere on the continent excited the imagination of the governing classes, and every meeting place of workingmen appeared to be bristling with firearms, but still the movement grew, and at last the workingmen were ready with their petition to Parliament. When, on the morning of the 10th of April, 1848, bands of Chartists began to gather on Kennington Common, carrying red banners and tricolors, all London was astir with excitement. Government had taken precaution for its defense; the guns of the Tower were manned and loaded; the employees of the post-office were supplied with two thousand rifles; the bank was surrounded with artillery; and behind sand-bags piled upon its roof stood a regiment of infantry. The bridges and approaches to Westminster were defended by an army of ten thousand horse, foot, and artillery, while the six thousand police of London lined the streets, supported by an army of special constables. And in command of this elaborate defense of the city against four thousand unarmed workingmen assembled on Kennington Common to bear a petition to Parliament, was none other than the Iron Duke himself—Wellington. Surely the voice of the pothouse politicians had been heard throughout England; it had penetrated the halls of government—what need had the reformers for powder and shot? And must we not believe that when five years later the great reform was enacted, credit for that event was in some measure due to the resolute and accordant factory folk? Yes, the wheels and spindles of which Arkwright dreamed brought something more than material wealth to England; his vision made the nation rich and powerful and his vision likewise gave to the masses equal political rights.

VII

THE FACTORY AND SOCIAL PROGRESS

We have now traced the history of the factory, from its beginning with the inventions of Arkwright down to its permanent establishment in the first half of the last century, and we have noted its influence upon the social life of England. We have seen how, as early as the fifteenth century, the introduction of manufactures assisted in breaking down the feudal system, and how, by making possible the accumulation of wealth by men of humble birth, it contributed to the rise of the middle class. We have further seen that at the close of the eighteenth century the introduction of machinery intensified these tendencies and exerted a powerful influence on the development of our modern democracy.

We have, however, confined our attention to a single industry as it developed in a particular nation,—we have taken the cotton factory as typical of all factories and its growth in England as typical of its growth throughout the Western world. But the factory has developed differently in each industry and its social influence has never been quite alike in any two nations. When, for instance, Samuel Slater introduced cotton manufacturing into America, he set up in Rhode Island an exact counterpart of the English factory. When, later, other factories were built in New England there took place the same transition of a vast laboring population from the rural districts to the manufacturing towns;—but this population was very unlike the manufacturing population of England. The American factories were operated by the sons and daughters of Yankee farmers, reared in the atmosphere of democracy and springing from a race unaffected by the traditions of feudalism; for them political equality had been already won, yet even in America the factory became an instrument for social progress. In the rapidly growing manufacturing towns these country folk found a new life of opportunity for social advancement; they did not remain operatives long, but advanced to higher callings; and to take the places which they left, thousands of workers came from Lancashire here to enjoy that civic freedom for which their brothers in the Old World were still contending. To-day in our Southern States we see a similar process at work,—another race of men advancing in the social scale by means of the factory; from the mountains of the Carolinas thousands of young men and women, reared in a civilization almost unbelievably primitive, are flocking to the manufacturing towns, there to enjoy the advantages of modern life. But however varied have been the phases of the development of the factory in different parts of the world there has always been this common phenomenon—the concentration of the laboring population in manufacturing cities and the development of social discontent leading to social progress.

The nineteenth century was the age of Power Discovered; mechanical inventions, the concentration of industry, the extension of the factory system, new means of transportation destroyed the last vestige of the feudal world and left the democratic ideal triumphant but unfulfilled: a new century dawns,—the age of Power Humanized. The industrial world in which we live, with all its peculiar characteristics, has been built upon the ruins of the feudal order, and in due time will give place to a newer and better civilization. Radicals of to-day see visions of to-morrow; reformers fired by the visions seek to make them real; while conservatives, clinging to the traditions of a dead past, strive to stay the inevitable progress of mankind. Truth never changes, but the knowledge of truth grows deeper with each age; no political institution, no social institution is sacred unless it is founded upon some eternal truth, and all human institutions must change with the increasing knowledge of mankind. Everywhere in the Western world the condition of the laboring population is vastly better to-day than when, a century and a half ago, the factory was established; vastly better than when, sixty years ago, the governments of Europe trembled before a working-class revolt,—when British Chartism triumphed in reform; when Karl Marx, exiled from Prussia, called upon the workingmen of the world to unite; when Mazzini, another exile in London, preached to the toilers of Italy the gospel of God and humanity, of progress through education. But the evolution is incomplete, and the discontent of the laboring population still remains a vital force in the upward progress of mankind.

To-day we in America are confronted by the amazing spread of Socialism; Socialism which the radicals preach, the reformers seek to establish, and the conservatives fear. We cannot evade its issues, for Socialism is something more than a political creed,—it is the modern expression of that same spirit of human progress which destroyed slavery in the ancient world, serfdom in the middle ages and, creating modern democracy, cannot rest until it has guaranteed to all men not only equal political rights but equal social rights. Two men, smoke-room companions of mine during a Pacific voyage, stand for the contending ideals of the feudal and the modern world. One was a noble earl, the other a British tea merchant; both were men of wealth,—the one of large but unproductive estates, the other of a great business giving employment to thousands of men. Of the two, the tea merchant, though lacking in fine manners, was the more important person; yet he would not have exchanged those hours of familiar gossip with the noble earl for more chests of tea than would fill the hold of the ship. And there was a reason for this feeling, because the Groom of the Bedchamber stood for that aristocracy of culture and good manners which has an important value in any society. Under the militant structure of society this value belonged to the few; in our present democracy it has become increasingly the privilege of the many. Public education, public libraries, public art galleries, the perfected art of printing have opened the highest culture to children of the humblest birth. May we not, then, look forward to the time when “the best that has anywhere been in the world shall be the lot of every man born into it”—that is to say, the lot of every man who desires the best?