Mary Barton Page #16

Mary Barton: A Tale of Manchester Life is the first novel by English author Elizabeth Gaskell, published in 1848. The story is set in the English city of Manchester between 1839 and 1842, and deals with the difficulties faced by the Victorian working class.

• Novel

								


"Come, Margaret, on wi' your bonnet, and let's go to see Carsons'
mill; it's afire, and they say a burning mill is such a grand sight.
I never saw one."

"Well, I think it's a fearful sight. Besides I've all this work to
do."

But Mary coaxed in her sweet manner, and with her gentle caresses,
promising to help with the gowns all night long if necessary, nay,
saying she should quite enjoy it.

The truth was, Margaret's secret weighed heavily and painfully on her
mind, and she felt her inability to comfort; besides, she wanted to
change the current of Margaret's thoughts; and in addition to these
unselfish feelings, came the desire she had honestly expressed, of
seeing a factory on fire.

So in two minutes they were ready. At the threshold of the house they
met John Barton, to whom they told their errand.

"Carsons' mill! Ay, there is a mill on fire somewhere, sure enough,
by the light, and it will be a rare blaze, for there's not a drop
o' water to be got. And much Carsons will care, for they're well
insured, and the machines are a' th' oud-fashioned kind. See if they
don't think it a fine thing for themselves. They'll not thank them as
tries to put it out."

He gave way for the impatient girls to pass. Guided by the ruddy
light more than by any exact knowledge of the streets that led to the
mill, they scampered along with bent heads, facing the terrible east
wind as best they might.

Carsons' mill ran lengthways from east to west. Along it went one
of the oldest thoroughfares in Manchester. Indeed all that part of
the town was comparatively old; it was there that the first cotton
mills were built, and the crowded alleys and back streets of the
neighbourhood made a fire there particularly to be dreaded. The
staircase of the mill ascended from the entrance at the western end,
which faced into a wide dingy-looking street, consisting principally
of public-houses, pawn-brokers' shops, rag and bone warehouses,
and dirty provision shops. The other, the east end of the factory,
fronted into a very narrow back street, not twenty feet wide, and
miserably lighted and paved. Right against this end of the factory
were the gable ends of the last house in the principal street--a
house which from its size, its handsome stone facings, and the
attempt at ornament in the front, had probably been once a
gentleman's house; but now the light which streamed from its enlarged
front windows made clear the interior of the splendidly fitted up
room, with its painted walls, its pillared recesses, its gilded and
gorgeous fittings up, its miserable, squalid inmates. It was a gin
palace.

Mary almost wished herself away, so fearful (as Margaret had said)
was the sight when they joined the crowd assembled to witness the
fire. There was a murmur of many voices whenever the roaring of the
flames ceased for an instant. It was easy to perceive the mass were
deeply interested.

"What do they say?" asked Margaret, of a neighbour in the crowd, as
she caught a few words, clear and distinct, from the general murmur.

"There never is anyone in the mill, surely!" exclaimed Mary, as the
sea of upward-turned faces moved with one accord to the eastern end,
looking into Dunham Street, the narrow back lane already mentioned.

The western end of the mill, whither the raging flames were driven
by the wind, was crowned and turreted with triumphant fire. It sent
forth its infernal tongues from every window hole, licking the black
walls with amorous fierceness; it was swayed or fell before the
mighty gale, only to rise higher and yet higher, to ravage and roar
yet more wildly. This part of the roof fell in with an astounding
crash, while the crowd struggled more and more to press into Dunham
Street, for what were magnificent terrible flames, what were falling
timbers or tottering walls, in comparison with human life?

There, where the devouring flames had been repelled by the yet more
powerful wind, but where yet black smoke gushed out from every
aperture, there, at one of the windows on the fourth story, or
rather a doorway where a crane was fixed to hoist up goods, might
occasionally be seen, when the thick gusts of smoke cleared partially
away for an instant, the imploring figures of two men. They had
remained after the rest of the workmen for some reason or other, and,
owing to the wind having driven the fire in the opposite direction,
had perceived no sight or sound of alarm, till long after (if any
thing could be called long in that throng of terrors which passed by
in less time than half an hour) the fire had consumed the old wooden
staircase at the other end of the building. I am not sure whether it
was not the first sound of the rushing crowd below that made them
fully aware of their awful position.

"Where are the engines?" asked Margaret of her neighbour.

"They're coming, no doubt; but, bless you, I think it's bare ten
minutes since we first found out th' fire; it rages so wi' this wind,
and all so dry-like."

"Is no one gone for a ladder?" gasped Mary, as the men were
perceptibly, though not audibly, praying the great multitude below
for help.

"Ay, Wilson's son and another man were off like a shot, well nigh
five minute agone. But th' masons, and slaters, and such like, have
left their work, and locked up the yards."

Wilson! then, was that man whose figure loomed out against the ever
increasing dull hot light behind, whenever the smoke was clear,--was
that George Wilson? Mary sickened with terror. She knew he worked for
Carsons; but at first she had had no idea any lives were in danger;
and since she had become aware of this, the heated air, the roaring
flames, the dizzy light, and the agitated and murmuring crowd, had
bewildered her thoughts.

"Oh! let us go home, Margaret; I cannot stay."

"We cannot go! See how we are wedged in by folks. Poor Mary! ye won't
hanker after a fire again. Hark! listen!"

For through the hushed crowd, pressing round the angle of the mill,
and filling up Dunham Street, might be heard the rattle of the
engine, the heavy, quick tread of loaded horses.

"Thank God!" said Margaret's neighbour, "the engine's come."

Another pause; the plugs were stiff, and water could not be got.

Then there was a pressure through the crowd, the front rows bearing
back on those behind, till the girls were sick with the close ramming
confinement. Then a relaxation, and a breathing freely once more.

"'Twas young Wilson and a fireman wi' a ladder," said Margaret's
neighbour, a tall man who could overlook the crowd.

"Oh, tell us what you see?" begged Mary.

"They've gotten it fixed again the gin-shop wall. One o' the men i'
th' factory has fell back; dazed wi' the smoke, I'll warrant. The
floor's not given way there. God!" said he, bringing his eye lower
down, "th' ladder's too short! It's a' over wi' them, poor chaps. Th'
fire's coming slow and sure to that end, and afore they've either
gotten water, or another ladder, they'll be dead out and out. Lord
have mercy on them!"

A sob, as if of excited women, was heard in the hush of the crowd.
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