“But,” said John, quite bewildered, “I didn’t know canvas was made in looms, like other cloth.”
“All cloth is made in looms.”
“Yes; but I didn’t think sail-cloth was made in such looms as yours.”
“In England,” said Ben, “all the sail-cloth for their merchant and naval service is wove in such looms, as no English vessel is allowed to wear any other. If we were under England, as we were a few years ago, Sally couldn’t make this cloth if she wanted to; it would have to be made there; but they import the hemp and linen yarn from Russia and other places. It used to be all spun by hand, on a little wheel; but I understand of late they’ve got mills to go by water that spin.”
“But I shouldn’t think a woman could weave such heavy stuff.”
“Can’t they?” said Sally, going to a drawer, and taking out a piece of bed-tick that she had woven with four treadles, and beat up thick. “What do you think of that? Would any wind get through that?”
“Well, I’ll give up now; but still, I don’t see how so much cloth as they use in England, and send over here, and, I suppose, everywhere else, can be made in such a small way.”
But this, which was entirely new to John, excited his wonder, and was so difficult of belief, was no matter of surprise to Charlie.
“Small way!” he exclaimed: “a good many strands make a rope. O, you don’t know much about England. Why, the people there are thicker than flies around a dead herring, glad to turn their hand to anything to get their bread, and thousands can’t get it; not because they are too lazy to work, but can’t get the work to do, are helped by the parish, and often die of hunger.”
“Die of hunger! That’s awful.”