Forums · Something I had to write for history
Meh, I had to do this for history. It's set in a textile mill in 1700's England, and yeah. Enjoy
The Mill Workers Strike Back:
Carson sighed as he walked slowly to his post in the morning. The unfulfilling morning meal had done little to reinvigorate him, and the three sleepless nights were beginning to get to him. After an hour of toil he felt his eye lids drooping and the machines before him began to blur. Working next to him was his brother Phred, a man who was both massively strong and massively caring. ?Phred, I can?t do this. Not today. I?m gonna go and get some sleep somewhere,? he whispered softly, ?If they asks where I is, can you, y?know, cover for me?? Phred grunted his consent, as any more conversation would look suspicious.
Carson, under the guise of kneeling down to recover some dropped supplies, crawled out of the room. Thinking quickly he figured that the best place to catch a few winks would be one of the store rooms below the mill. Running swiftly and silently he soon reached the basement and found one of the store rooms unlocked. He slipped inside and barely had time to close his eyes before he fell asleep.
***
Phred was a studious worker, and all that morning nothing distracted him from his work until he heard a comment from George, the overseer in charge of his section, ?Now where?s that Carson got off to?? The innocent enough comment sent a shiver of fear through Phred?s body. ?Does anyone know where Carson is?? George asked, his voice ringing out over the hum of the machines. ?No? Well then I?ll have to find him,? George said, a wicked smile beginning to spread across his face.
I?m sure he has good reason for being absent,? Phred spoke up, hoping somehow to protect his brother.
?Does he now? Well, I don?t care,? George hissed softly, his quiet voice disguising a darker intent. George then walked out of the room, followed closely by his assistant. Phred watched in terror as they left, for he knew if his brother was found he would be beaten, probably badly.
He was about to call out when his father placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered, ?Don?t, son. There?s nothing you can do. You?ll just get yourself hurt.? Phred growled in anger, but realized that his father was right; anything he tried now would be for naught.
***
George had no idea where to look for Carson, but he was such a man that he rarely had an idea of what to do, so this was nothing new to him. He was a large man, with broad shoulders and thickly built body. His arms hung straight at his sides as he walked, and were heavily muscled. His head seemed small on his thick body and his hair was cropped short. A whip was coiled at his side.
He knew that he would have to find the slacking worker soon else his job might be in jeopardy, for the mill owner had no time for overseers who couldn?t watch over the workers. And as he was paid well for doing relatively little he definitely did not feel like finding another job.
After checking most of the ordinary hiding places workers snuck off to in order to sleep George was beginning to get worried: soon news that a worker had snuck off would reach the mill owner, and if he didn?t find the worker soon he would be in major trouble.
George was reflecting on all this while he walked through one of the main hallways in the basement when he noted that one of the doors was open. Smiling grimly he realized he had found his slacker. He entered the room with stealth that belied his large figure and heard steady breathing emanating from behind a pillar of crates. He snick around the crates silently and with the air of a hunter who has found his prey snuck forward until his faces was inches from the boy?s.
A smile of anticipation lit up George?s face as he stretched his arm forward and slowly formed his fingers into a pincer around the boy?s ear. He closed his fingers around the boy?s ear and twisted sharply and at the same time hissed, ?Caught you!? out from between clenched teeth. Carson?s eyes flew open, and seeing George?s face so close to his made a split second decision. Ignoring the pain in his ear Carson looked up smiling and said, ?Good morning,? then spat in George?s face.
George felt more than saw the warm liquid hit his face, and with a snarl of rage he wiped it off. ?You?ll pay for that one, you ungrateful twerp,? he growled, and raising a hand smacked Carson across his face with enough force to cause Carson?s teeth to dig into his cheek and rip the flesh.
Carson felt pain explode in his left cheek as George?s hand made contact with it and could taste blood. Stars exploded in front of his eyes and he would have probably blacked out if not for the sudden pain in his ear as George grabbed it again and almost picked Carson up by it. Carson clenched his teeth his teeth to keep from crying out in pain and wondered what his punishment would be as he was pulled by his ear to the mill owner?s office.
***
?Fifty lashes!? Carson remembered his brother?s indignant rage when he heard what his punishment was. When Carson added in that he had spat in George?s face Phred?s eyes lit up and he seemed about to laugh when Carson added that he had been fined 6s 6d as well. Phred?s face fell and he said they would manage, somehow, and then returned to his work, which now was all too important.
Carson?s parents had similar reactions, and though they briefly lectured him on his rash decisions he could see anger burning in their eyes. Many of the other workers offered their condolences, for few had received as harsh a whipping as Carson had, and those who had were now dead.
Carson was sitting on his bed now, for the pain in his back was such that it would not allow him to lie down. He knew that tonight the pain would make even the thought of sleep impossible.
***
Phred was also deep in thought that night as he lay in his bed. He knew that the whipping his brother received could well lead to his demise. He had seen it countless times before. A worker was whipped severely and the pain kept them from sleep that night. The next day exhaustion would make concentration impossible, and if they weren?t whipped for working too slowly they could well be injured on the machines. If they were injured on the machines they would be whipped for being irresponsible, and the multitude of open wounds on the worker would be like a written invitation for disease and infection.
As Phred though about this anger began to pound through his veins, and there was a part of him that wanted to go up to George and punch in his ugly face. Only thoughts of what might happen to his family if he did this kept him from going to the overseers? quarters and doing just that. Something must be done he thought, and as he lay there he began to plot what he hoped would be remembered as a great victory for the mill workers.
***
As Phred had suspected the next day Carson appeared at the mill with bags under his eyes and his steps were slow and heavy. It wasn?t long after he had taken up his position in front of the machines before Phred could see him begin to sway on his feet, and unfortunately for Carson George saw this too. Walking over with a heavy, purposeful stride, his visage grim George said to Carson in a low voice, ?Oh dear me. Falling asleep on the job? This won?t do at all. Well, come with me.?
Carson felt hate, white hot and overpowering rush up his throat but his common sense quelled it with thoughts of terrible beatings and perhaps death if he struck out at George. Carson looked up at George, and for the second that their eyes met the depth of the hatred George detected was enough to make him avert his eyes.
When Carson returned to his station he looked more awake, probably due to the five new lacerations on his back. When he turned his back Phred could see blood soaking through his shirt and a wave of anger flooded his mind. He turned back to his work and worked with silent contempt for a while, all the while formulating a plan to get back at the oppressive overseers and mill owner.
It was many hours later when Phred heard George conversing with one of the other overseers that he realized what they could do. While he missed most of the conversation what he did manage to hear piqued his interest. George and the other overseer, whose name Phred hadn?t caught were discussing the mill owner?s recent ?recruitment marathon.? According to the other overseer he had hired twenty new overseers in the past week, bringing them to a total of one hundred forty.
Phred was no mathematic genius, but one thing he did know that there were in excess of five thousand workers at the mill, and that five thousand was a hell of a lot more than one hundred forty. It was with these thoughts in mind that he finally formulated a plan that would allow every one of the five thousand workers to bring justice to those who had oppressed them for so long.
***
?And so I give you a chance to rise up against tyranny, to overthrow those who have oppressed us, and to live our lives the way we see fit,? Phred said triumphantly to the gathered workers. There was a hushed cheer from the crowd, but Phred was not fooled by the lack of volume. He could see in everyone?s eyes a level of interest and excitement that he knew they liked the idea. Eventually one worker plucked up the courage to ask a question, and then for most of the night Phred was answering people?s individual questions.
When he had answered everyone?s questions and he could still see everyone waiting with baited breath for what he would say next. Taking a deep breath he said, ?Tomorrow morning, as with every morning there has ever been at this accursed factory there will be break sometime before our mid-day meal. At this break we will attack our overseers using whatever force necessary to make sure they do not hinder us. We will kill them if necessary. Then we will march to the mill owner?s office and take control of this mill.? And with those final words Phred retreated to his bed, and though the cheering was muted due to the need to keep quiet there was an air of excitement in the workers? quarters on that night. Nobody noticed one shadowy figure leave the room and head off towards the overseers? quarters.
***
Phred didn?t get any sleep that night, and he doubted that any of the factory workers got much, if any. As he went to his station an unnatural calm had gripped him and, though he didn?t know how he did it, waved to George and in a falsely cheery manner said, ?Good morning,? before walking off to his station, next to Carson and his father, Steve. When he arrived at his station Carson tugged lightly at his sleeve, and when he turned to look at him Carson nudged his head towards George and pointed at his waist. Turning, Phred saw a flint lock pistol hanging from George?s belt and a knife shoved in his back pocket.
?We?ll do it anyway,? Phred whispered, and slowly the word spread. Great was the sense of expectation in the mill that morning, and as the first break approached you could almost smell the adrenaline.
When the great bells tolled the first break of the morning Phred turned, ready to leap on George, but what he saw stalled his motions. George was standing there, looking straight at him with the gun held comfortably in his hand, a grim smile on his face. ?Do not move,? he said, ?And you will be allowed to keep your jobs. I know of your plan, as do all the overseers. We are all prepared to use lethal force in order to secure this mill. Do not attack us, and we will not harm you.?
Everyone looked towards Phred in silence before George continued, ?You, Phred, you filthy, lying, illegitimate twerp, I know it was you who planned this. You, who fed this rabble your lies and incensed them against me. And for this you will die.? As George finished speaking he raised the gun and pulled the trigger. A strange look crossed Steve?s face seconds before the trigger was pulled, and when he saw George?s finger pull back on the trigger he leapt in front of his son, who watched in terror as blood blossomed from the bullet wound in Steve?s left breast.
Phred looked once at his dying father who whispered, ?Do it. Do it now!? before looking up at George. Their eyes met and in Phred?s eyes George saw a loathing that ran deeper than he could possibly fathom. And in those eyes he saw death. Too late George realized the danger he was in and he watched in terror as Phred leapt at him with death in his eyes. When Phred stood in front of him he whispered one word, a word that conveyed all the hatred ever felt by a mill worker to an overseer: ?Murderer.? And with that Phred raised his hands and wrapped them around George?s throat and squeezed. After a moment of struggling George fell to the ground, his sightless eyes wide in shock.
Everyone was silent in the area for a moment before they heard a gunshot in a distant part of the factory, followed by many more. Phred said with a calm that belied the tempest of hate in his eyes, ?There are still more overseers. Our work here has but begun.? And with that he turned and walked off to help the others.
***
Half an hour later and many casualties later Phred walked at the head of all the mill workers in an inexorable march towards the mill owner?s office. The fighting had been fierce and Phred had been shocked to hear that over two hundred mill workers had been killed by the overseers, but eventually all of the overseers save for one who fled after George was killed were dead. To Phred?s right was Carson, who had proved himself invaluable in the fighting, killing six of the overseers, second only to Phred who had single-handedly killed twelve overseers and who had helped kill another twenty.
When they reached the mill owner?s office Phred stopped at the door and looked down at the name engraved in the wood: Alfred A. Straster. Knowing the door was probably locked Phred took a step backwards and with savage strength kicked the door. The door was knocked off its hinges by the strength of Phred?s kick. Phred, Carson and many other workers entered the spacious office and laid eyes on Alfred, the mill owner. Alfred was sitting calmly at his desk, and asked if there?s anything he can do for the workers. Incensed by Alfred?s calm attitude Carson stepped forward and growled, ?This mill is ours now. Leave the office now and you won?t be harmed.?
?Oh, I?m afraid I won?t be going anywhere,? Alfred said, a smug smile on his face.
?Like hell you won?t,? Carson growled and lunged forward at Alfred. Alfred continued to smile while he pulled a gun out from under his desk, took aim and fired. Carson?s dead body fell to the floor, his face locked in an expression of utter hatred. Bellowing in rage Phred grabbed a knife he had taken from one of the overseers and with anger etched into his face hurled the knife at Alfred. The knife flew straight and true, hitting Carson between the eyes and embedded itself in his skull. Phred stood still for a moment before his sorrow overwhelmed his anger and he fell sobbing to Carson?s side.
The Mill Workers Strike Back:
Carson sighed as he walked slowly to his post in the morning. The unfulfilling morning meal had done little to reinvigorate him, and the three sleepless nights were beginning to get to him. After an hour of toil he felt his eye lids drooping and the machines before him began to blur. Working next to him was his brother Phred, a man who was both massively strong and massively caring. ?Phred, I can?t do this. Not today. I?m gonna go and get some sleep somewhere,? he whispered softly, ?If they asks where I is, can you, y?know, cover for me?? Phred grunted his consent, as any more conversation would look suspicious.
Carson, under the guise of kneeling down to recover some dropped supplies, crawled out of the room. Thinking quickly he figured that the best place to catch a few winks would be one of the store rooms below the mill. Running swiftly and silently he soon reached the basement and found one of the store rooms unlocked. He slipped inside and barely had time to close his eyes before he fell asleep.
***
Phred was a studious worker, and all that morning nothing distracted him from his work until he heard a comment from George, the overseer in charge of his section, ?Now where?s that Carson got off to?? The innocent enough comment sent a shiver of fear through Phred?s body. ?Does anyone know where Carson is?? George asked, his voice ringing out over the hum of the machines. ?No? Well then I?ll have to find him,? George said, a wicked smile beginning to spread across his face.
I?m sure he has good reason for being absent,? Phred spoke up, hoping somehow to protect his brother.
?Does he now? Well, I don?t care,? George hissed softly, his quiet voice disguising a darker intent. George then walked out of the room, followed closely by his assistant. Phred watched in terror as they left, for he knew if his brother was found he would be beaten, probably badly.
He was about to call out when his father placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered, ?Don?t, son. There?s nothing you can do. You?ll just get yourself hurt.? Phred growled in anger, but realized that his father was right; anything he tried now would be for naught.
***
George had no idea where to look for Carson, but he was such a man that he rarely had an idea of what to do, so this was nothing new to him. He was a large man, with broad shoulders and thickly built body. His arms hung straight at his sides as he walked, and were heavily muscled. His head seemed small on his thick body and his hair was cropped short. A whip was coiled at his side.
He knew that he would have to find the slacking worker soon else his job might be in jeopardy, for the mill owner had no time for overseers who couldn?t watch over the workers. And as he was paid well for doing relatively little he definitely did not feel like finding another job.
After checking most of the ordinary hiding places workers snuck off to in order to sleep George was beginning to get worried: soon news that a worker had snuck off would reach the mill owner, and if he didn?t find the worker soon he would be in major trouble.
George was reflecting on all this while he walked through one of the main hallways in the basement when he noted that one of the doors was open. Smiling grimly he realized he had found his slacker. He entered the room with stealth that belied his large figure and heard steady breathing emanating from behind a pillar of crates. He snick around the crates silently and with the air of a hunter who has found his prey snuck forward until his faces was inches from the boy?s.
A smile of anticipation lit up George?s face as he stretched his arm forward and slowly formed his fingers into a pincer around the boy?s ear. He closed his fingers around the boy?s ear and twisted sharply and at the same time hissed, ?Caught you!? out from between clenched teeth. Carson?s eyes flew open, and seeing George?s face so close to his made a split second decision. Ignoring the pain in his ear Carson looked up smiling and said, ?Good morning,? then spat in George?s face.
George felt more than saw the warm liquid hit his face, and with a snarl of rage he wiped it off. ?You?ll pay for that one, you ungrateful twerp,? he growled, and raising a hand smacked Carson across his face with enough force to cause Carson?s teeth to dig into his cheek and rip the flesh.
Carson felt pain explode in his left cheek as George?s hand made contact with it and could taste blood. Stars exploded in front of his eyes and he would have probably blacked out if not for the sudden pain in his ear as George grabbed it again and almost picked Carson up by it. Carson clenched his teeth his teeth to keep from crying out in pain and wondered what his punishment would be as he was pulled by his ear to the mill owner?s office.
***
?Fifty lashes!? Carson remembered his brother?s indignant rage when he heard what his punishment was. When Carson added in that he had spat in George?s face Phred?s eyes lit up and he seemed about to laugh when Carson added that he had been fined 6s 6d as well. Phred?s face fell and he said they would manage, somehow, and then returned to his work, which now was all too important.
Carson?s parents had similar reactions, and though they briefly lectured him on his rash decisions he could see anger burning in their eyes. Many of the other workers offered their condolences, for few had received as harsh a whipping as Carson had, and those who had were now dead.
Carson was sitting on his bed now, for the pain in his back was such that it would not allow him to lie down. He knew that tonight the pain would make even the thought of sleep impossible.
***
Phred was also deep in thought that night as he lay in his bed. He knew that the whipping his brother received could well lead to his demise. He had seen it countless times before. A worker was whipped severely and the pain kept them from sleep that night. The next day exhaustion would make concentration impossible, and if they weren?t whipped for working too slowly they could well be injured on the machines. If they were injured on the machines they would be whipped for being irresponsible, and the multitude of open wounds on the worker would be like a written invitation for disease and infection.
As Phred though about this anger began to pound through his veins, and there was a part of him that wanted to go up to George and punch in his ugly face. Only thoughts of what might happen to his family if he did this kept him from going to the overseers? quarters and doing just that. Something must be done he thought, and as he lay there he began to plot what he hoped would be remembered as a great victory for the mill workers.
***
As Phred had suspected the next day Carson appeared at the mill with bags under his eyes and his steps were slow and heavy. It wasn?t long after he had taken up his position in front of the machines before Phred could see him begin to sway on his feet, and unfortunately for Carson George saw this too. Walking over with a heavy, purposeful stride, his visage grim George said to Carson in a low voice, ?Oh dear me. Falling asleep on the job? This won?t do at all. Well, come with me.?
Carson felt hate, white hot and overpowering rush up his throat but his common sense quelled it with thoughts of terrible beatings and perhaps death if he struck out at George. Carson looked up at George, and for the second that their eyes met the depth of the hatred George detected was enough to make him avert his eyes.
When Carson returned to his station he looked more awake, probably due to the five new lacerations on his back. When he turned his back Phred could see blood soaking through his shirt and a wave of anger flooded his mind. He turned back to his work and worked with silent contempt for a while, all the while formulating a plan to get back at the oppressive overseers and mill owner.
It was many hours later when Phred heard George conversing with one of the other overseers that he realized what they could do. While he missed most of the conversation what he did manage to hear piqued his interest. George and the other overseer, whose name Phred hadn?t caught were discussing the mill owner?s recent ?recruitment marathon.? According to the other overseer he had hired twenty new overseers in the past week, bringing them to a total of one hundred forty.
Phred was no mathematic genius, but one thing he did know that there were in excess of five thousand workers at the mill, and that five thousand was a hell of a lot more than one hundred forty. It was with these thoughts in mind that he finally formulated a plan that would allow every one of the five thousand workers to bring justice to those who had oppressed them for so long.
***
?And so I give you a chance to rise up against tyranny, to overthrow those who have oppressed us, and to live our lives the way we see fit,? Phred said triumphantly to the gathered workers. There was a hushed cheer from the crowd, but Phred was not fooled by the lack of volume. He could see in everyone?s eyes a level of interest and excitement that he knew they liked the idea. Eventually one worker plucked up the courage to ask a question, and then for most of the night Phred was answering people?s individual questions.
When he had answered everyone?s questions and he could still see everyone waiting with baited breath for what he would say next. Taking a deep breath he said, ?Tomorrow morning, as with every morning there has ever been at this accursed factory there will be break sometime before our mid-day meal. At this break we will attack our overseers using whatever force necessary to make sure they do not hinder us. We will kill them if necessary. Then we will march to the mill owner?s office and take control of this mill.? And with those final words Phred retreated to his bed, and though the cheering was muted due to the need to keep quiet there was an air of excitement in the workers? quarters on that night. Nobody noticed one shadowy figure leave the room and head off towards the overseers? quarters.
***
Phred didn?t get any sleep that night, and he doubted that any of the factory workers got much, if any. As he went to his station an unnatural calm had gripped him and, though he didn?t know how he did it, waved to George and in a falsely cheery manner said, ?Good morning,? before walking off to his station, next to Carson and his father, Steve. When he arrived at his station Carson tugged lightly at his sleeve, and when he turned to look at him Carson nudged his head towards George and pointed at his waist. Turning, Phred saw a flint lock pistol hanging from George?s belt and a knife shoved in his back pocket.
?We?ll do it anyway,? Phred whispered, and slowly the word spread. Great was the sense of expectation in the mill that morning, and as the first break approached you could almost smell the adrenaline.
When the great bells tolled the first break of the morning Phred turned, ready to leap on George, but what he saw stalled his motions. George was standing there, looking straight at him with the gun held comfortably in his hand, a grim smile on his face. ?Do not move,? he said, ?And you will be allowed to keep your jobs. I know of your plan, as do all the overseers. We are all prepared to use lethal force in order to secure this mill. Do not attack us, and we will not harm you.?
Everyone looked towards Phred in silence before George continued, ?You, Phred, you filthy, lying, illegitimate twerp, I know it was you who planned this. You, who fed this rabble your lies and incensed them against me. And for this you will die.? As George finished speaking he raised the gun and pulled the trigger. A strange look crossed Steve?s face seconds before the trigger was pulled, and when he saw George?s finger pull back on the trigger he leapt in front of his son, who watched in terror as blood blossomed from the bullet wound in Steve?s left breast.
Phred looked once at his dying father who whispered, ?Do it. Do it now!? before looking up at George. Their eyes met and in Phred?s eyes George saw a loathing that ran deeper than he could possibly fathom. And in those eyes he saw death. Too late George realized the danger he was in and he watched in terror as Phred leapt at him with death in his eyes. When Phred stood in front of him he whispered one word, a word that conveyed all the hatred ever felt by a mill worker to an overseer: ?Murderer.? And with that Phred raised his hands and wrapped them around George?s throat and squeezed. After a moment of struggling George fell to the ground, his sightless eyes wide in shock.
Everyone was silent in the area for a moment before they heard a gunshot in a distant part of the factory, followed by many more. Phred said with a calm that belied the tempest of hate in his eyes, ?There are still more overseers. Our work here has but begun.? And with that he turned and walked off to help the others.
***
Half an hour later and many casualties later Phred walked at the head of all the mill workers in an inexorable march towards the mill owner?s office. The fighting had been fierce and Phred had been shocked to hear that over two hundred mill workers had been killed by the overseers, but eventually all of the overseers save for one who fled after George was killed were dead. To Phred?s right was Carson, who had proved himself invaluable in the fighting, killing six of the overseers, second only to Phred who had single-handedly killed twelve overseers and who had helped kill another twenty.
When they reached the mill owner?s office Phred stopped at the door and looked down at the name engraved in the wood: Alfred A. Straster. Knowing the door was probably locked Phred took a step backwards and with savage strength kicked the door. The door was knocked off its hinges by the strength of Phred?s kick. Phred, Carson and many other workers entered the spacious office and laid eyes on Alfred, the mill owner. Alfred was sitting calmly at his desk, and asked if there?s anything he can do for the workers. Incensed by Alfred?s calm attitude Carson stepped forward and growled, ?This mill is ours now. Leave the office now and you won?t be harmed.?
?Oh, I?m afraid I won?t be going anywhere,? Alfred said, a smug smile on his face.
?Like hell you won?t,? Carson growled and lunged forward at Alfred. Alfred continued to smile while he pulled a gun out from under his desk, took aim and fired. Carson?s dead body fell to the floor, his face locked in an expression of utter hatred. Bellowing in rage Phred grabbed a knife he had taken from one of the overseers and with anger etched into his face hurled the knife at Alfred. The knife flew straight and true, hitting Carson between the eyes and embedded itself in his skull. Phred stood still for a moment before his sorrow overwhelmed his anger and he fell sobbing to Carson?s side.