Parliament met on December 6, 1831, and, of course, the principal business of the Session was the Reform Bill. But there were social as well as Parliamentary reforms urgently needed, one of which was the employment of children in factories, which had been much abused. Petitions poured in, in favour of shorter working hours for them, and other ameliorations of their condition. Richard Oastler, popularly known as "The Factory King," a staunch Tory and Churchman, and one of the most popular political leaders among the working-men in the West Riding of Yorkshire, championed their cause; and I will give an extract from a speech of his at a meeting held at Huddersfield, to petition Parliament on their behalf. Said he—
"Take, then, a little captive, and I will not picture fiction to you, but I will tell you what I have seen. Take a little captive six years old; she shall rise from her bed at four o'clock in the morning, of a cold winter's day; but, before that, she wakes, perhaps half a dozen times, and says, 'Father, is it time? Father, is it time?' And, at last, when she gets up, and puts her little bits of rags upon her weary limbs—weary with the last day's work—she trudges onward, through rain and snow, to the mill, perhaps two miles, or, at least, one mile; and there, for thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, or even eighteen hours, she is obliged to work, with only thirty minutes interval. (Shame.) The girl I am speaking of died; but she dragged on that dreadful existence for several years. Homewards again at night she would go, when she was able; but, many a time she hid herself in the wool at the mill, as she had not strength to go. (Hear.) But this is not an isolated case. I wish it were."
A correspondent writing to the Times, March 16, says—
"The children are frequently reduced to such insensibility, as not to know when they have finished their cardings, but their hands and feet have continued to perform the evolutions of their work. Many times, of an evening, when I have passed on from child to child in a woollen mill, each has turned up its little face, and anxiously inquired, 'What o'clock is't?' I have answered, 'Seven.' 'Seven?' was the rejoinder, 'Why, it's three hours to ten, isn't it? We moan't gee up till ten and past.' This, delivered in a melancholy tone, has made me thus reflect as I returned home: 'I know that you must remain at work till past ten. I know, also, that you are called out of bed at five in the morning, and although it may be eleven at night before you reach home, you must again leave your beds at five; and this, too, every morning in the year, Sundays excepted. Many of you will have to grope about in the dark for the greasy rags which scarcely cover you. No matter, you must face all weathers. Though the roads be choked with snow, and the frost would make the strongest shiver, let the winds roar, or the rain fall, still there must be no delay. At five every morning you must leave your humble homes, and, lamentable to reflect, ye 'moan't gee up till ten and past.'"
On the second reading of the "Factories Regulation Bill," March 16th, Mr. Sadler, in the course of a very long speech, made the following statement:—
"The following were the hours of labour imposed upon the children and young persons employed in a certain establishment last summer. Monday morning, commence work at six o'clock; at nine, half an hour for breakfast; begin again at half-past nine, and work till twelve. Dinner, one hour; work from one till half-past four. Drinking (afternoon meal), half an hour; work from five to eight; rest, half an hour; work from half-past eight till twelve (midnight); an hour's rest. One in the morning till five, work; half an hour's rest; half-past five till nine; breakfast; half-past nine till twelve. Dinner; work from one till half-past four. Again from five till nine on the Tuesday evening, when the labour concluded, and the gang of adult and infant slaves were dismissed for the night, after having toiled thirty-nine hours with nine intervals for refreshment (but none for bed), amounting to six hours only, in the whole. Wednesday and Thursday, day work only. On Friday morning till Saturday night, the same labour repeated, with the same intermissions as endured on Monday, Monday night, and Tuesday; only the labour of the last day closed at five, when the poor wretches were dismissed. The ensuing day, Sunday, must, under such circumstances, be a day of stupor, to rouse the children from which would often only be to continue their physical sufferings, without the possibility of compensating them with any moral good."
But no definite action was taken in the matter until the following year, when I shall have occasion to again allude to it.
In the middle of February the cholera made its appearance in London, in the parish of St. Anne's, Limehouse. On the 12th, a woman, named Fergusson, was attacked by the disease and conveyed to the workhouse. She died in eight hours. On the same day another woman and her daughter died in the same place.
Greville tells us something about its commencement, under date February 14th—
"In the meantime the cholera has made its appearance in London, at Rotherhithe, Limehouse, and in a ship off Greenwich. In all, seven cases. These are amongst the lowest and most wretched classes, chiefly Irish; and a more lamentable exhibition of human misery than that given by the medical men who called at the Council Office yesterday I never heard. They are in the most abject state of poverty, without beds to lie upon. The men live by casual labour, are employed by the hour, and often get no more than four or five hours' employment in the course of the week. They are huddled and crowded together by families in the same room, not as permanent lodgers, but procuring a temporary shelter; in short, in the most abject state of physical privation and moral degradation that can be imagined. On Saturday we had an account of one or more cases. We sent, instantly, down to inspect the district and organize a Board of Health. A meeting was convened, and promises given that all things needful should be done; but, as they met at a public-house, they all got drunk and did nothing. We have sent down members of the Board of Health to make preparations and organize Boards; but, if the disease really spreads, no human power can arrest its progress through such an Augæan stable."