MR. PUNCH'S APPEAL—TO COAL-OWNERS, MINERS, AND ALL WHOM IT MAY CONCERN.
War! Is it still to be war, wild war in the heart of the land?
Are we children of England, busied in tearing our mother's breast?
And is there no ruling counsel, and is there no warning hand
To bring this folly to reason, and still this fury to rest?
War! And the boons of Nature are wasted in stubborn strife,
And women, children, non-combatants, suffer and starve and stand by;
And idle hands are lifted in vain for the means of life;
And why?
Ye will not list to each other, then listen to me and to these,
Whose mute appeal I must voice, and whose pitiful cause I must plead!
You of the hardened hearts playing autocrat much at your ease,
And you of the hardened hands who the end of the way little heed;
Listen and look and consider! The blows that you blindly strike
Like shafts that are shot at a venture, fall not alone upon foes.
The arrow shot o'er the house [A] may a brother hurt, belike—
Who knows?
[ [A] Hamlet, Act V., Sc. 2.
Who cares? Not you, it would seem. For you stand with stubborn front,
And backs in hatred averted, and ears to all counsels closed;
While ten thousand innocent lives of your quarrel are bearing the brunt,
And a myriad hands hang idle because you are fiercely opposed.
Look at them! Gathered hungry about an empty grate.
Whilst the coal they crave lies idle within the unpeopled mine,
And Wealth and Work, at odds, when invited to arbitrate—
Decline!
Capital sets its face, and cocks a contemptuous nose,
And Labour, lounging sullenly, snaps its jaws like a spring;
And the land must stand at gaze whilst they fight it out as foes!
How long must we wait the issue, how long must we "keep the ring"?
Are there no rights save yours, no claims save your warring wills?
Sense has a word to say, Justice a thing to do.
Are we to wait and wait while the land with suffering thrills,
For you?
Sympathy? Ay, good friends! But sympathy's not like wrath,
One-eyed, one-sided, partial. Sympathy's due to all
Who fall, fate-tripped and bruised, in your quarrel's Juggernaut path.
We think of the wives and children—Charity heeds their call;
Does she not proffer her dole "without prejudice"?—Yes, but they
Are not sole sufferers now from the Coal War's venomous strife.
Thousands of unknown hearts are pleading for Peace to-day—
And Life!
Strong men "out of work," weak women as "out of heart,"
Factory gates unopened, and Workhouse gates fast shut.
Traffic hampered, arrested, piled trains unable to start.
Famine in homes and hearths, trade dead-lock and market-glut!
The coal lies there in the mine, untouched of hammer and pick,
While yon pale widow-woman must haggle in vain for enough
To charge her tiny grate! Faith! the heart that turns not sick
Is tough!
Tough, my lords of Capital! Hard as the coal-seam black
Your Cyclops-drudges dig at—when you will allow them to dig.
Say, on your conscience now, is your purse so slender and slack
That you cannot bend a little to those who have made you big?
The wealth the sunlight stored men hew for you in the dark,
From the black and poisonous caverns which once were forests free,
'Tis yours—till certain questions are asked and answered! Hark
To me!
Men will not always stand, while Monopoly wages war,
Mute, unquestioning, suffering. Greed, and starvation wage,
The crowd of want-urged captives shackled to Mammon's car,
Show not the welcomest things to this curious, questioning age.
To-day the appeal's to Pity. To-morrow—well, never mind!—
Look on the sorrowful picture that Punch commends to your view!
Man many a time has found there is wisdom in being kind.
Will you?
And you poor thralls of the pit, remember that you and yours
Are not sole sufferers now from this fratricidal strife.
Yes, a starving garrison—fights; sharp ills demand sharp cures;
But when in your stubborn wrath you swear it is "war to the knife,"
Remember that knife's at the throat of others than those who'd gain
By a victory for you in this fiercest of labour fights.
And these, too, who must lose, yet have—shall they not maintain?—
Their rights!
"AND SHE OUGHT TO KNOW!"
"That's supposed to be a Portograph of Lady Solsbury. But, bless yer, it ain't like her a bit in Private!"