"Have I done it," he said, "or haven't I?"
Suddenly the silence was broken.
"Aye," there was a shout, "aye, lad, yo' ha'."
"Then," he shouted, "them as Jem Haworth has stood by, let 'em stand by Jem Haworth!"
And he struck his big fist upon his open palm with a fierce blow, and stood before them breathing hard.
He had the best metal on his side somehow, and the best metal carried the day. The boldness of his move, the fact that he had not waited, but had taken the lead, were things all for him. Even those who wavered toward the enemy were stirred to something like admiration.
"But what about th' Union?" said a timorous voice in the rear. "Theer'll be trouble with th' Unions as sure as we stand out, Mester."
Haworth made a movement none of them understood. He put his hand behind him and drew from his hip-pocket an object which caused every man of them to give a little start and gasp. They were used to simple and always convenient modes of defense. The little object he produced would not have startled an American, but it startled a Lancashire, audience. It was of shining steel and rose-wood, and its bright barrels glittered significantly. He held it out and patted it lightly.
"That's for the Union, lads," he said. "And more like it."