Further over the yard, towards one of the sheds that form the boundary on this side, stands a large water-closet, one of many about the factory, built to meet the requirements of about five hundred workmen.

These buildings are of a uniform type and are disagreeable places, lacking in sanitary arrangements. There is not the slightest approach to privacy of any kind, no consideration whatever for those who happen to be imbued with a sense of modesty or refinement of feeling. The convenience consists of a long double row of seats, situate back to back, partly divided by brick walls, the whole constructed above a large pit that contains a foot of water which is changed once or twice a day. The seats themselves are merely an iron rail built upon brickwork, and there is no protection. Several times, I have known men to overbalance and fall into the pit. Everything is bold, daring, and unnatural. On entering, the naked persons of the men sitting may plainly be seen, and the stench is overpowering. The whole concern is gross and objectionable, filthy, disgusting, and degrading. No one that is chaste and modest could bear to expose himself, sitting there with no more decency than obtains among herds of cattle shut up in the winter pen.

Consequently, there are many who, though hard pressed by the exigences of nature, never use the place. As a result they contract irregularities and complaints of the stomach that remain with them all their lives, and that might easily prove fatal to them. Perhaps this barbarous relic of insanitation may in time be superseded by some system a little more moral and more compatible with human sensibility and refinement.

Near this spot, in the open air, are stored hundreds of gallons of oil, spirits and other liquids of a highly inflammable nature, used for mixing paints for the carriages and waggons, together with chemicals employed in the rapid cleansing of the exteriors of vehicles that come in for repairs and washing-down. The rules of the factory strictly forbid the storing of any of these liquids within the workshops and outhouses. This precaution is taken in order to prevent damage by fire in case of an outbreak and to render the flames more easy of control by the firemen.

At every short distance there is a connection with the water-main and a length of hose always fit and ready for any emergency. The works has its own fire-engine--a powerful motor and pumps--and if by chance a call is made the men are speedily on the spot. Here and there around the sheds are deep pits, walled up and covered with cast-iron tops, to contain water for the fire-engines, for they cannot well draw clear off the main. To these pits, in the afternoon or evening, the engines and firemen occasionally come for practice. Immediately the wells are filled from the main, the hose is coupled up, and a perfect deluge is rained over everything in the vicinity, as though a fire were really in progress. After half an hour's l.u.s.ty exertion with the hose and the scaling of walls and roofs, the firemen stow their apparatus and the motor rushes off down the yard quickly out of sight.

Though fires at the works are not of common occurrence, there is now and then an outbreak, and sometimes one of serious dimensions. They are generally the result of great carelessness, or the want of ordinary attention on the part of a workman or official. Perhaps a naked light is left burning somewhere or other, or a portion of cotton-waste is smouldering away un.o.bserved. The roof may become ignited through contact with the hot chimney; and very often the cause of the outbreak is not ascertained at all. In several cases incendiarism has been suggested as the cause of a fire, but, notwithstanding all the efforts of the works'

detectives to fix the guilt, proof of the crime has never been brought home to any individual. When fires do happen they nearly always originate in the night. One reason of this is that, with so many workmen on the scene, during the day, the first sign of an outbreak would be immediately detected and dealt with before it could become dangerous.

But at night it would develop rapidly and obtain a good hold on the premises before being discovered by the watchmen.

When it is known in the works that a fire is raging round about--if it should happen to be at night--the few workmen employed, without waiting for instructions from the overseers, throw down their tools and rush off to the scene of the accident. They are impelled to do this, in the first place, by the strong natural desire every man has to be of service in times of danger; secondly, by reason of the intense excitement which the cry of "Fire!" always produces in the most phlegmatic individual, and, last of all--if either of the two causes before-named are wanting--by a natural and uncontrollable curiosity and fascination for the smoke and flames. It is usually the first of these three causes that impels the workmen to throw down their tools and run to help the men with the fire-engines. At such times as these nothing is held sacred. Doors and windows are forced open or smashed in, bolts and bars are wrenched from their sockets, offices and storehouses are entered; the most private recesses are made public. All thoughts of the midnight meal are set aside and there is no returning to the worksheds until morning brings a fresh supply of hands accompanied by the day officials.

Not many years ago the station buildings took fire, shortly after midnight, and most of the men on night duty in the department nearest the scene flocked out to help the station staff and the firemen. By and by the refreshment rooms were involved and there was a wholesale removal of the viands and liquors. Under such circ.u.mstances, drinking was naturally indulged in, and more than one--officials, as well as the rank and file--who came out to help returned the worse for liquor. Such adventures as these live long in the memory of the workmen: it is not often they have the opportunity of taking a drink at the company's expense.

Some time after the station fire a much more serious outbreak occurred in an extensive shed used for the construction and storing of carriages.

There were in the place sufficient vehicles to compose twenty trains, and the most of them were brand new, representing altogether a huge sum of money. When the watchman pa.s.sed through on his rounds at midnight everything appeared safe; the place was dark, silent, and deserted. Half an hour afterwards a workman employed in a shed some distance away saw a dull glow above the roof and thought at first it was the moon rising. A few minutes afterwards flames leapt into sight and discovered a fire of some magnitude.

Quickly the signal was given, and every available man rushed on the scene. The centre of the shed was like a raging furnace. The roof was on fire and the flames leapt from coach to coach with great rapidity.

These, from their slightness of construction and from their being thickly coated with paint and varnish, caught fire like matchwood and burned furiously, while large sections of the roof fell in. Every now and then, as a coach became consumed down to the framework, the gas cylinders underneath burst with a terrific report, like that of a piece of heavy artillery. The shattered iron and steel flew in all directions and increased the danger to the firemen. Hundreds of people of the neighbourhood, roused with the repeated shocks, left their beds and ran out of doors to ascertain the cause of the explosions. Some thought it was an earthquake and others feared it was the boilers exploding. Many volunteered to help, but their offers were refused, and a strong cordon of police was drawn around the shed to keep out all intruders. So fierce was the heat within that the steel tyres of the wheels were buckled and bent, the rails were warped and twisted into fantastic shapes and the heavy iron girders of the roof were wrecked. The frames of the burnt coaches were reduced to a pile of debris and were totally unrecognisable. The damage to rolling stock and to the premises amounted to many thousands of pounds, yet the fire was all over in two or three hours. As to its origin, that remained a mystery, and completely baffled the detectives. Examination of the tell-tales proved that the watchman had gone his round all right, and though many experiments were made the cause of the outbreak remained inexplicable.

A great part of the repairs to carriages--such as washing-down, smudging, and especially the cleaning and re-fitting of interiors--is done out of doors in the yard when the weather permits, for it would be impossible to contain all the vehicles in the sheds. The whole of this work, even to the most trivial detail, is now done at the piece rate.

Experienced examiners decide the amount of repairs to be executed, and the prices are fixed according to their recommendation. It is generally a matter of luck to the workman whether the repair job pays or not. Very often the carrying out of repairs takes a much longer time than had been antic.i.p.ated. The renewing of one part often necessitates the remodelling of another, or the fitting up of the new piece may prove to be a very tedious process. In this case the workman may lose money on the job, though, on the other hand, he may have finished altogether earlier than he expected. It would be very nearly impossible to have a perfect equation in the matter of repair prices, and this is recognised by all, masters and men, too, at the factory. The workman is commonly told by his chief that "what he loses on the swings he must pick up on the roundabouts," i.e., what he loses on one job he must gain on another, and this axiom is universally accepted, at least by all those who do repairs. On new work the labour is uniform and there is no need and no excuse for inequality of prices.

Great consternation fell upon the carriage finishers, painters, and pattern-makers, several years ago, when it became known that piece rates were to be subst.i.tuted for the old day-work system, especially as the change was to be introduced at a very slack time. It was looked upon as a catastrophe by the workmen, and such it very nearly proved to be. Many journeymen were discharged, some were transferred to other grades of work--that is, those who were willing to suffer reduction rather than to be thrown quite out of employment--and the whole department was put on short time, working only two or three days a week, while some of the men were shut out for weeks at a stretch. Several who protested against the change were dismissed, and others--workmen of the highest skill and of long connection with the company--had their wages mercilessly cut down for daring to interpose their opinion. The pace was forced and quickened by degrees to the uttermost and then the new prices were fixed, the managers themselves attending and timing operations and supervising the prices. Feeling among the workmen ran high, but there was no help for the situation and it had to be accepted. Few of the men belonged to a trade union, or they might have opposed the terms and made a better bargain; as it was they were completely at the mercy of the managers and foremen.

The carriage finishers and upholsterers are a cla.s.s in themselves, differing, by the very nature of their craft, from all others at the factory. As great care and cleanliness are required for their work, they are expected to be spruce and clean in their dress and appearance. This, together with the fact that the finisher may have served an apprenticeship in a high-cla.s.s establishment and one far more genteel than a railway department can hope to be, tends to create in him a sense of refinement higher than is usually found in those who follow rougher and more laborious occupations. His cloth suit, linen collar, spotless white ap.r.o.n, clean shaven face, hair carefully combed, and bowler hat are subjects of comment by the grimy toilers of other sheds. His dwelling is situated in the cleanest part of the town and corresponds with his personal appearance. In the evening he prosecutes his craft at home and manufactures furniture and decorations for himself and family, or earns money by doing it for others. Very often the whole contents of his parlour and kitchen--with the exception of iron and other ware--were made by his hands, so, since his wages are above the ordinary, provided he is steady and temperate, he may be reasonably comfortable and well-to-do.

The painters are not quite as fortunate as are their comrades the finishers. Their work, though in some respects of a high order and important, is at the same time less artistic than is that of the cabinetmakers and upholsterers. It is also much more wearisome and unhealthy, and the wages are not as high. Very often, too, work for them is extremely scarce, especially during the summer and autumn months, when every available coach is required in traffic for the busy season, and they are consequently often on short time. Their busiest periods are the interval between autumn and Christmas and the time between the New Year and Easter. The style of colouring and ornamentation for the carriages has changed considerably of recent years and there is now not nearly as much labour and pains expended upon the vehicles as in times past. The brighter colours have been quite eliminated and have given place to chocolates and browns, while the frames and ends of the carriages are painted black. The arms of the company, together with figures, letters, initials, and other designs, so conspicuous to the eye of the traveller, are affixed by means of transfers and therefore are not dependent upon the skill of the painters.

The washing-down of the coaches is done by labourers, some of whom live in the town and others in the villages round about. Little skill is required for this, and the operation is very dull and monotonous. The men are supplied with long-handled brushes, soaps, and sponges, hot and cold water and chemical preparations. Large gangs of them are continually employed in removing the accretions of dust and filth acquired by the coaches in their mad career over the railway line, through tunnels and cuttings, smoky towns and cities. Sometimes the vehicles are completely smothered with grease and mud thrown up by the sleepers in bad weather, and every particle of this must be removed before the painter can apply his brush to renovate the exterior.

The washers-down are generally raw youths and many of them are of the shifty type--the kind that will not settle anywhere for long together.

The drabness of their employment forces them to seek some means of breaking the monotony of it, and they often indulge in noise and horseplay, singing and shouting at the top of their voices and slopping the water over each other. This brings them into trouble with the officials, and occasions them to take many a forced holiday, but they do not care about that, and when they arrive back upon the scene they practise their old games as boldly as before. Having no trade, and receiving but a scant amount in wages, they do not feel to be bound down hand and foot to the employment, and even if they should be discharged altogether they will not have lost very much. Their youthfulness, too, renders them buoyant and independent; all the world is open to them if they decide to hand in their notices.

The cushion-beaters, formerly well known about the yard, have quite disappeared now. At whatever time you were outside the shed, in fine weather, you might have heard their rods beating on the cushions in perfect rhythm and order. They were taken from the coaches and laid upon stools in the open air, and the beater held a rod, usually of hazel, in each hand. With them he alternately smote the cushion, keeping up the effort for a long time, until every particle of dust was removed and blown away. His dexterity in the use of the rods and the ability to prolong the operation were a source of great interest to the youths; all the small boys of the shed stole out at intervals to see him at work.

Now the dust is removed from the cushions and paddings by means of a vacuum arrangement. This is in the form of a tube, with an aperture several inches in diameter and having strong suctional powers created by the exhaust steam from the engine in the shed. It is pa.s.sed to and fro over the surface of the cushion, and the dust is thereby extracted and received into the apparatus. So strong is the suction within that it will sometimes draw the b.u.t.tons from the upholstering if they are loose or frayed. The quant.i.ty of dust extracted from one carriage often amounts to a pound in weight.

Old customs and systems die hard at the works and, whatever their own opinion of the matter may be, the officials are not considered by the workmen to be of a very progressive type. Many of the methods employed, both in manufacture and administration, are extremely old-fashioned and antiquated; an idea has to be old and h.o.a.ry before it stands a chance of being admitted and adopted here. Small private firms are usually a long way ahead of railway companies in the matter of methods and processes, and they pay better wages into the bargain. They have to face compet.i.tion and to cater for the markets, while railway companies, being both the producers and consumers of their wares, can afford to choose their own way of manufacturing them. In addition to this, the heads of small firms usually have an interest in the concern whereas the managers of railway works are otherwise placed; it makes no difference to them what they spend or waste, and they are always able to cover up their shortcomings. Their prodigality and mismanagement would ruin a hundred small firms in as many months, though the outside world knows little or nothing about it. But if the officials creep they urge the rank and file along at a good rate and make a pretence of being smart and business-like. The fact of a workman being engaged prosecuting a worn-out method for the production of an article does not make the task lighter or more congenial for him, rather the opposite. Real improvement in manufacture not only expedites production, but also simplifies the toil to the workman, and the newer methods are the better, generally speaking.

In everything, then, except in smart management and supervision, railway sheds now resemble contract premises. Piecework prices are cut to the lowest possible point; it is all push, drive, and hustle. No attempt is made to regulate the amount of work to be done, and short time is frequent and often of long duration. This is not arranged as it was formerly, when the whole department, or none at all, was closed down.

Now even a solitary shed, a portion of it, or a mere gang is closed or suspended if there is a slackness at any point. Consequently, one part of the works is often running at break-neck speed, while another is working but three or four days a week and the men are in a half-starved condition. In one shed fresh hands are being put on, while from others they are being discharged wholesale. Transfers from one shop to another are seldom made, and never from department to department. One would think that the various divisions of the works were owned by separate firms, or people of different nationalities, such formidable barriers appear to exist between them.

The chiefs of the departments are usually more or less rivals and are often at loggerheads, each one trying to outdo the other in some particular direction and to bring himself into the notice of the directors. The same, with a little modification, may be said of the foremen of the several divisions, while the workmen are about indifferent in this respect. For them, all beyond their own sheds, except a few personal friends or relations, are total strangers. Though they may have been employed at the works for half a century, they have never gone beyond the boundary of their own department, and perhaps not as far as that, for trespa.s.sing from shed to shed is strictly forbidden and sharply punished where detected. Thus, the workman's sphere is very narrow and limited. There is no freedom; nothing but the same coming and going, the still monotonous journey to and fro and the old hours, month after month, and year after year. It is no wonder that the factory workmen come to lead a dull existence and to lose interest in all life beyond their own smoky walls and dwellings. It would be a matter for surprise if the reverse condition prevailed.

CHAPTER IV

THE OLD Ca.n.a.l--THE ASH-WHEELERS--THE BRICK-LAYERS--RIVAL FOREMEN--THE ROAD-WAGGON BUILDERS--THE WHEEL SHED--BOY TURNERS--THE RUBBISH HEAP.

West of the workshop the yard is bounded by a ca.n.a.l that formerly connected the railway town with the ancient borough town of Cricklade, eight miles distant. But things are different now from what they were at the time the cutting was made, for great changes have taken place during the last half century in all matters pertaining to transport. Then the long barges, drawn by horses, mules, and donkeys, and laden with corn, stone, coal, timber, gravel, and other materials, proceeded regularly by day and night, up and down the ca.n.a.l to their destinations--north to Gloucester, west to Bristol, east to Abingdon, and thence to far-off London. At that time, instead of being filled with mud, weeds, and refuse, and overgrown with ma.s.ses of rank vegetation--gra.s.ses, flags, water-parsnip, and a score of other aquatic plants--the channel was broad and free, and full of clear, limpid water. The cattle came to drink in the meadows; there the clouds were mirrored, floating in fields of azure. The fish leapt and played in the sunshine, making innumerable rings on the surface, and the swallows skimmed swiftly along, dipping now and then to s.n.a.t.c.h up a sweet mouthful to carry home to their young in the nest under the eaves of the neighbouring cottage or shed.

Occasionally, too, a steamboat pa.s.sed through the locks out beyond the town and proceeded on its way to the Thames or Avon. The dredger plied up and down to prevent the acc.u.mulation of mud and refuse, and the towpaths and bridges were kept in good repair. The railway had not everything its own way then. The fever of haste had not taken hold of every part of the community, and a few, at least, could await the arrival of the barges and so save a considerable sum in the conveyance of their goods. But now all that is changed. Goods must be loaded, whirled rapidly away and delivered in a few hours, for no one can wait.

The pace of the freight trains has been increased almost to express speed. Every possible means that could be thought of have been devised to facilitate transport, and the barges have disappeared from this neighbourhood. Here and there at the wharves may still be seen a few rotten old hulks, falling to pieces and embedded in the mud; the bridges are shattered and dilapidated and the lock gates are broken. The towpaths are overgrown with bushes and become almost impa.s.sable, and the channel is blocked up.

The only person who benefits by the change is the botanist. He, from time to time, may be seen busily engaged in grappling for rare specimens of weeds and gra.s.ses, or the less learned student of wild flowers comes to gather what treasures he may from the wilderness: the beautiful flowering rush, golden iris, graceful water plantain, arrowhead, water violet, figwort, skull-cap, gipsy wort, and celery-leaved crowfoot.

Formerly, too, the works derived a considerable quant.i.ty of water through the ca.n.a.l, but that has long ceased to be. There is no water at hand now, and supplies have had to be sought for among the Cotswold Hills, at a great distance from the town. The engines at the old pumping station, near the ca.n.a.l path, once so familiar a feature to travellers that way, are silent now and will be heard there no more.

They, too, have become a thing of the past.

The factory premises extend along both banks of the ca.n.a.l and are protected on the far side by a high wall, while that part nearest the workshop is open to the water's edge. On this side, first of all, is a high platform, called the stage, which is used to load the ashes and refuse, slag and clinkers from the furnaces and forges. This refuse is wheeled out twice daily--at six in the morning and again in the evening after the furnaces have been clinkered--by labourers, upon whom the duty devolves. To remove the clinker properly and economically from the grate of the furnace the fire must have been damped for a short while. This allows the whitehot coals to cling together underneath, and they form a kind of arch above the bars. When this has been accomplished the furnaceman inserts a strong steel bar at the bottom, resting it upon the "bridge," and, with a heavy sledge, breaks the clinker, working along from side to side. That is in a compact layer or ma.s.s, often six or eight inches deep, considerably thicker in the corners, and it is very tough while it is hot. After it has been thoroughly broken up, several of the fire bars are removed together, beginning at one side, and the heavy clinker drops through, spluttering and hissing, into the deep boshes of water disposed underneath. If the fire has not been sufficiently damped it is loose and hollow, and as soon as the bars are removed the white-hot coals rush through into the water, raising clouds of hot, blinding dust and dense volumes of steam.

Immediately the furnaceman, warned of the fall, springs backwards and escapes from the pit, or, if he is tardy in his movements, he is caught in the hot vapour and scalded severely. Sometimes the fall is very sudden and he has no time to escape. Then his face and arms take the full force of the rushing steam and he is certain to receive painful injuries. When the operation of clinkering is over the men bring their wheel-barrows and, with the aid of long-handled shovels, remove the refuse from the pits and run it outside and upon the stage. This is hot work, whenever it is performed; the men are always sure of a wet shirt at the task. Whatever the weather may be, wet or fine, frost or snow, they come to it stripped to the waist and quickly run their wheel-barrows to and fro. If the rain should pelt in torrents it makes little or no difference to them, they still go on with their work, half-naked and bare-headed. Hardy and strong as they may be, this is bound to affect their health, sooner or later. It is not an uncommon thing to find one or other of them breaking down at an early age, a physical wreck, unfit for further service.

The ash-wheelers belong to the same cla.s.s as the coalies and are sometimes identical with them. They are usually some of the strongest men in the shed, new hands, perhaps, who have not yet earned for themselves an installation into the ranks of the regular machine staff.

Sometimes, however, they have proved themselves smart with the shovel and wheel-barrow and have been considered too serviceable to shift to other employment, for, as it is well known that "the willing horse must draw double," so the workman who is willing to perform a hard duty without murmuring and complaint is always imposed upon and forced to do extra. The natural fool or the systematic skulker is pitied and respected. Once his general conduct is understood he is taken for what he is worth, and no more is expected of him. In time he is rewarded. He may come to be a checker, a clerk, or an inspector; while the sterling fellow, the hard worker, the "sticker," as he is called, may stop and work himself to death like a slave. Thus, deserving men, because they have proved themselves adepts at the work, have been kept on the ash-barrows for ten or twelve years, sweating their lives away for the sum of eighteen shillings a week. Several, however, disgusted with the business, have left the shed and gone back to work on the farms, in the pure surroundings of the fields and villages. This branch of work has recently been overhauled and estimated at the piece rate, and the wages somewhat improved, though the amount of work to each man has been almost doubled. The refuse and clinker from the furnaces are transported to various parts and used for filling up hollows, and for the making of banks and beds of yards and sidings.

Beyond the stage, lodged on the ground, are two old iron vans that were formerly used in the goods traffic. They have no windows or lights of any kind, merely a double door opening outwardly. These are the cabins and stores of the bricklayers, and they contain cement, fireclay, and firebricks for the furnaces and forges. A permanent staff of bricklayers is kept in each department at the works to carry out whatever repairs are necessary from time to time and to see to the construction and renovation of the furnaces. If there is any building on a large scale required, such as a new shed, stores, or offices, extra hands are put on from the town and afterwards discharged when the work is done. This procedure gives the officials an opportunity of selecting the best men, so that it often happens that new hands, temporarily engaged, become fixtures if they have shown exceptional skill at their trade and are otherwise suitable. In that case some of the old hands must go, and it needs not to be said that such an opportunity is welcomed by the foreman, as it provides him with an excuse for removing undesirables without being too much blamed himself.

The bricklayers are a distinct cla.s.s and do not mingle well with the other men at the works. Their having to do with bricks and mortar, instead of with iron and steel, seems to exclude them from the general hive, and the fact of their being dressed in canvas suits and overalls, and smeared with cement and fireclay, instead of being blackened with soot and oil, tends to emphasise the distinction. As with the rest of the staff, they are recruited from all parts of the country, and some of them have served a rural apprenticeship. In shrewdness and intelligence they do not rank with the machinists; that is to say, they may be smart at their trade, but they do not discover extraordinary faculties beyond that. Perhaps the nature of their toil has something to do with it, for that is at best a dull and uninspiring vocation. There is no magic required in the setting together of bricks and mortar, and little exertion of the intellect is needed in patching up old walls and buildings. They are nevertheless very jealous of their craft, such as it is, and deeply resent any intrusion into their ranks other than by the gates of the usual apprenticeship. Occasionally it happens that a bricklayer's labourer, who has been for many years in attendance on his mate, shows an apt.i.tude for the work, so that the foreman, in a busy period, is induced to equip him with the trowel. In that case he at once becomes the subject of sneering criticism; whatever work he does is condemned, and he is hated and shunned by his old mates and companions.

The foreman, too, takes advantage of his position and pays him less than the trade rate of wages, so that, after all, he is really made to feel that he is not a journeyman.

Very often, when there is no building to be done, the bricklayers must turn their hands to other work, such as navvying, whitewashing, painting, and so on, all which falls under their particular department.

Armed with pick and shovel, or pot and brush, they must dig foundations and drains, or scale the walls and roof and cleanse or decorate the shed. This is always productive of much grumbling and sarcastic comment, but it is better than being suspended. On the whole the bricklayers have a fairly comfortable billet at the works and they are not subject to frequent loss of time through wet weather and other accidents, as are their fellows of the town, though they do not receive as much in wages.

It is astonishing what a prodigious amount of work the labourers will get through in a short time, and apparently with little exertion, when they are digging out drains and foundations for new furnaces, steam-hammers, or other machinery. These foundations are generally huge pits, twelve or fifteen feet deep and double the size square. Stripped to the waist in the heat of the workshop, and armed with the heavy graft tool, with a stout iron plate fixed underneath their right foot, they will dig for hours without resting and yet seem to be always fresh and vigorous. Occasionally, as they throw up the solid clay, some workman of the shed will steal along to examine the fossil remains, pebbles, and flints, that were embedded in the earth, and slip back to his place at the steam-hammer, preserving some relic or other for future examination.

The st.u.r.dy labourer, however, keeps digging out the clay and hurling it up to the light. He knows nothing of geological data, theories and opinions, and cares not to inquire. He is there to dig the pit and not to trouble himself about the nature of soils and deposits, and though you should talk to him ever so learnedly of old time submersions, accretions, and formations, he only answers you with a blank stare or an unsympathetic grin. His private opinion is that you are something of a lunatic.

There is one among the bricklayers' labourers that is remarkable. This is the silent man, generally known as Herbert. The story goes that Herbert was once in love and thought to take a wife. But the course of true love did not run smooth in his case, and, in the end, the young lady jilted Herbert. That is according to the story. It may or may not have been true; perhaps Herbert could tell, but he is not at all communicative. Whatever the circ.u.mstances were, they made a profound impression upon Herbert's mind and he has never been the same man since.

Now he does not speak to any except his near workmate, and only then to answer the most necessary questions. It is useless for an outsider to attempt to make him speak; he ignores all your attentions. To cause him to smile would be akin to working a miracle. The set features never relax. The eyes are vacant and expressionless, the mouth is firm and stern, and the whole countenance rigid.

Yet Herbert is a fine-looking man. His features are regular--almost cla.s.sic--his face is bronzed with working out of doors, and he is a picture of health. In height he is medium. His shoulders are broad and square, his arms strong and muscular, and he has the endurance of an ox.

Would you tire Herbert? That is impossible. Whatever labour you set him to do he performs it without a murmur. He does the work of three ordinary men. Must he dig? He will dig, dig, dig, and throw up the huge spits of heavy clay as high as his head, one might say for ever. Must he wheel away the debris? He will pile up the wheel-barrow till it is ready to break down under the weight, and trundle it off and up to the stage without the slightest exertion and be back again in a breath. He will lift enormous weights and strike tremendous blows with the sledge.

He is tireless in his use of the pick and shovel; in fact, whatever you set Herbert to do he accomplishes it all in about a fifth of the time ordinarily required for the purpose. He is the b.u.t.t of his masters and of his work-mates. Whatever uncommonly laborious task there is to be done Herbert is the man to do it, and the more he does the more he must do, though he does not know it, or if he does, he shows no indication of the knowledge. Now and again the foreman stands by and watches him approvingly, and this stimulates him to fresh efforts. He revels in the work and, whatever he thinks about it all, he is still silent and inexplicable.

This sort of thing is all right from the point of view of the foreman, but it is very inconvenient and unfair to the other labourers who are sane in their minds and mortal in their bodies, for everything they do is adjudged according to the standard of this indefatigable Hercules.

The overseer, used to seeing him slaving endlessly, thinks light of the others' efforts, and imagines that they are not doing their share of the toil, so uneven is the comparison of their labours. In reality, such a man as Herbert is a danger and an enemy of his kind, though as he is quite unconscious of his conduct and does it all with the best intentions he must be forgiven. Such a one is more to be pitied than blamed.

The foremen of the bricklayers are not bricklayers themselves, and never have been, but were selected apparently without any consideration of their specific abilities. This one was a shunter, another was a carpenter, a third was a waggon-builder, and so on. Perhaps So-and-so and So-and-so went to school together, or worked formerly in the same shed; or consanguinity is the cause, for blood is thicker than water in the factory, as elsewhere. Accordingly, it often comes about that the most fitting person to take the responsible position is thrust aside at the last moment for an utter stranger, one who has no knowledge whatever of the work he is to supervise. With a certain amount of "pushfulness,"

however, and an extraordinary confidence in himself and his abilities, the new man is able to make a pretence of knowledge and, somehow or other, the work proceeds. Very often it would go on for months just as well without the foreman to interfere, and in many cases even better, for it is the chargemen and gangers who have the actual control of operations and who possess the real and intimate knowledge of the work.

Should an aspirant to the post of foreman through his own merits be set aside for a stranger--as is sometimes the case--there is bound to be jealousy existing between the two for ever afterwards, which now and again breaks out into heated scenes and may result in brawls and dismissals. Of the workmen, some will take the one side, and some the other; they are mutually distrustful, and have recourse to whispering and tale-telling. If it has been proved that one workman is guilty of getting another his discharge by any unfair means he is not forgiven by his mates. The dismissed man, in such a case, will frequently wait for his informer outside the gates, and will not be satisfied until he has given him a good thrashing. Perhaps he will walk boldly in through the entrance with the other men and take him unaware at his work and punish him on the spot. It is superfluous to say that this is not tolerated by the officials, and anyone who is so bold as to do it must be prepared to stand the consequences and appear at the Borough Police Court.

Now and again a foreman, who has been guilty of some underhanded action, is taken to task by the exasperated victim and treated to a little surprise combat of fisticuffs. Perhaps the foreman is a sneak or a bully, or both, and has carried his tyrannical behaviour too far for human endurance; or private jealousy may have impelled him to some cowardly turn or other, and the workman, driven to desperation, takes the law into his own hands and gives him a thrashing. This--provided the reprisal was merited--will be a source of huge delight to the other men in the shed, and everyone will rejoice to see the offender "taken down a notch," as they say; but if it was merely an exhibition of unwarrantable temper on the workman's part, the overseer will be commiserated with and defended. Whether right or wrong the pugnacious one is dismissed. His services are no longer required at the shed; he must seek occupation elsewhere.

Running along for some distance near the ca.n.a.l is a shed in which the road-waggons are made--trollies, vans, and cars for use in the goods yards and stations about the line--and inside this, and parallel with it, is the wheel shop, where the wheels, tyres, and axles are turned and fitted up for the waggons and carriages. Besides the making of new work in the first-named of these sheds, there is always a considerable amount of repairs to be carried out. A great part of this is done outside, in fine weather, in order to give increased room within doors.