So the mandate had gone out, and there were a few at Elchester ready to arrange for a rising at Uphill and Downhill. Dan Hewlett was known to them in the public-house, and he had an especial spite at Captain Carbonel, beginning from his knowledge of the tacit detection of his abstraction of the paper at Greenhow, going through his dismissal from working there, aggravated by the endeavour to remove Judith, embittered by the convictions as a poacher, and, perhaps, brought to a height by the influence over his eldest son. He hated the captain enough to be willing to direct the attack upon Greenhow, especially as it was known that the master was absent and engaged in summoning the yeomanry “to ride down the poor chaps,” as it was said, “who only wanted bread for their children’s mouths.”
There were men both at Uphill and Downhill, and even at Poppleby, who were quite willing to listen. The Poppleby folk, some of them, believed that riot was the only way to get reform, more of the villagers thought it was the only way of getting rid of the machines, the object of mysterious dread for the future, and more still, chiefly ne’er-do-wells and great idle lads, were ready for any mischief that might be going; and full of curiosity and delight at what Jack Swing might be about to do.
These youths, some of them at work and some not, dispersed the news through the village and fields that there was to be a great rising of the people’s friends, and that Gobbleall’s machine was to be somewhere. All were to meet at the randygo—supposed to mean rendezvous—at the cross-road, and as for those who did not, it would be the worse for them, and worse than all for them that told clacking women who might carry the tale up to Greenhow.
The summons was indeed not given till the men were well out of reach of their clacking women, but at work in the fields, and then a party began—not to march—they could not have done that to save their lives, but to tramp out of Poppleby, shouting to any one whom they saw in the fields to come with them and stand up for the people’s rights. At Downhill their numbers increased by all the noisy fellows, and some who fancied great good was to be gained somehow, though some wiser wives called out to them not to get into a row, nor let themselves be drawn into what they would be sorry for. At the “Fox and Hounds” they tarried and demanded a glass of beer all round, which Mr Oldfellow was really afraid to refuse. He was a timid man, half on their side, half on that of the gentry, and he saw there were enough of them to sack his cellars if he demurred.
There, too, amid much laughter, they all disguised themselves, some blackening their faces with soot, others whitening them with chalk, and some putting on the women’s cloaks, bonnets, or aprons.
Then they collected Uphill men.
“We are come for your good,” said Jack Swing, or the man who passed for him, wearing a long Punch-like nose. “We are come to help you; and where’s the mean coward that won’t come along with us in his own cause? There will be no living for poor folks if those new-fangled machines be allowed to go on, and them Parliament folk vote out all that makes for the people. Down with them, I say! Up with Reform, and down with all the fools and cowards who won’t stand up for themselves.”
All this, garnished with foul words and abuse, and roared out from the top of the horse-block, was addressed to the crowd that began to gather.
Dan Hewlett, with a horrid white face, was going about persuading the men, and so were others. “Bless you, we don’t want to do no harm to the ladies, nor the children. We only wants to do away with them toady machines, as they wants to do all the work instead of men’s hands, as the Almighty meant, and is in Scripture.”
This was the plea to the better disposed, like Tom Seddon, who held out, “You’ll not hurt madam nor the little ones. She’ve been a kind lady, and the captain, he’s a good master, I will say that; and I don’t want to hurt ’em.”