Chapter 11. Pannell's Pet

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_ CHAPTER ELEVEN. PANNELL'S PET

"Who's there?"

"All right--open the door! Cob and I have come down to see how you are getting on," said Uncle Jack.

The gate was unlocked and a stout iron bar that had been added to the defences taken down.

"Why, what brings you two here?" cried Uncle Dick. "What's the matter?"

"That's what we want to know. How long has the dog been uneasy?"

"For the past hour. I had gone to lie down; Bob was watchman. All at once Piter began barking furiously, and I got up directly."

"Let's have another look round," said Uncle Jack.

"Here, Piter!" I cried; "what's the matter, old fellow?"

The dog whined and laid his great jowl in my hand, blinking up at me and trying to make his savage grin seem to be a pleasant smile; but all at once he started away, threw up his head, and barked again angrily.

"What is it, old fellow?" I said. "Here, show us them. What is it?"

Piter looked at me, whined, and then barked again angrily as if there was something very wrong indeed; but he could only smell it in the air. What it was or where it was he did not seem to know.

We had a good look round, searching everywhere, and not without a great deal of trepidation; for after the past night's experience with the powder it was impossible to help feeling nervous.

That's what Uncle Jack called it. I felt in a regular fright.

"Everything seems quite satisfactory," Uncle Jack was fain to say at last. And then, "Look here, boys," he cried, "Cob and I have been talking this matter over, and we say that the works must take care of themselves. You two have to come back with us."

"What! And leave the place to its fate?" said Uncle Dick.

"Yes. Better do that than any mishap should come to you."

"What do you say, Bob?"

"I've a very great objection to being blown up, knocked on the head, or burned," said Uncle Bob quietly. "It's just so with a soldier; he does not want to be shot, bayoneted, or sabred, but he has to take his chance. I'm going to take mine."

"So am I," said Uncle Dick.

"But, my dear boys--"

"There, it's of no use; is it, Bob?" cried Uncle Dick. "If we give way he'll always be bouncing over us about how he kept watch and we daren't."

"Nonsense!" cried Uncle Jack.

"Well, if you didn't," said Uncle Bob, "that cocky consequential small man of a boy, Cob, will be always going about with his nose in the air and sneering. I shall stay."

"Then we will stay with you."

My uncles opposed this plan, but Uncle Jack declared that he could not sleep if he went back; so the others gave in and we stayed, taking two hours turns, and the night passed slowly by.

Every now and then Piter had an uneasy fit, bursting out into a tremendous series of barks and howls, but there seemed to be no reason for the outcry.

He was worst during the watch kept by Uncle Jack and me after we had had a good sleep, and there was something very pathetic in the way the poor dog looked at us, as much as to say, "I wish I could speak and put you on your guard."

But the night passed without any trouble; the men came in to their work, and with the darkness the fear seemed to have passed away. For there in the warm sunshine the water of the dam was dancing and sparkling, the great wheel went round, and inside the works the grindstones were whizzing and the steel being ground was screeching. Bellows puffed, and fires roared, and there was the _clink clank_ of hammers sounding musically upon the anvils, as the men forged blades out of the improved steel my uncles were trying to perfect.

Business was increasing, and matters went so smoothly during the next fortnight that our troubles seemed to be at an end. In one week six fresh men were engaged, and after the sluggish times in London, where for a couple of years past business had been gradually dying off, everything seemed to be most encouraging.

Some of the men engaged were queer characters. One was a great swarthy giant with hardly any face visible for black hair, and to look at he seemed fit for a bandit, but to talk to he was one of the most gentle and amiable of men. He was a smith, and when he was at the anvil he used almost to startle me, he handled a heavy hammer so violently.

I often stood at the door watching him seize a piece of steel with the tongs, whisk it out of the forge with a flourish that sent the white-hot scintillations flying through the place, bang it down on the anvil, and then beat it savagely into the required shape.

Then he would thrust it into the fire again, begin blowing the bellows with one hand and stroke a kitten that he kept at the works with his unoccupied hand, talking to it all the time in a little squeaking voice like a boy's.

He was very fond of swinging the sparkling and sputtering steel about my head whenever I went in, but he was always civil, and the less I heeded his queer ways the more civil he became.

There was a grinder, too, taken on at the same time, a short round-looking man, with plump cheeks, and small eyes which were often mere slits in his face. He had a little soft nose, too, that looked like a plump thumb, and moved up and down and to right and left when he was intent upon his work. He was the best-tempered man in the works, and seemed to me as if he was always laughing and showing his two rows of firm white teeth.

I somehow quite struck up an acquaintance with these two men, for while the others looked askant at me and treated me as if I were my uncle's spy, sent into the works to see how the men kept on, Pannell the smith and Gentles the grinder were always ready to be civil.

My friendliness with Pannell began one morning when I had caught a mouse up in the office overlooking the dam, where I spent most of my time making drawings and models with Uncle Bob.

This mouse I took down as a _bonne bouche_ for Pannell's kitten, and as soon as he saw the little creature seize it and begin to spit and swear, he rested upon his hammer handle and stopped to watch it.

Next time I went into the smithy he did not flourish the white-hot steel round my head, but gave it a flourish in another direction, banged it down upon the anvil, and in a very short time had turned it into the blade of a small hand-bill.

"You couldn't do that," he said smiling, as he cooled the piece of steel and threw it down on the floor before taking out another.

"Not like that," I said. "I could do it roughly."

"Yah! Not you," he said. "Try."

I was only too eager, and seizing the pincers I took out one of the glowing pieces of steel lying ready, laid it upon the anvil and beat it into shape, forming a rough imitation of the work I had been watching, but with twice as many strokes, taking twice as long, and producing work not half so good.

When I had done he picked up the implement, turned it over and over, looked at me, threw it down, and then went and stroked his kitten, staring straight before him.

"Why, I couldn't ha' done a bit o' forging like that when I'd been at it fower year," he said in his high-pitched voice.

"But my uncles have often shown me how," I said.

"What! Can they forge?" he said, staring very hard at me.

"Oh, yes, as well as you can!"

He blew hard at the kitten and then shook his head in a dissatisfied way, after which it seemed as if I had offended him, for he seized his hammer and pincers and began working away very hard, finishing a couple of the steel bill-hooks before he spoke again.

"Which on 'em 'vented this here contrapshion?" he said, pointing to an iron bar, by touching which he could direct a blast of air into his fire without having the need of a man or boy to blow.

"Uncle John," I said.

"What! Him wi' the biggest head?"

I nodded.

"Yes; he said that with the water-wheel going it was easy to contrive a way to blow the fires."

"Humph! Can he forge a bill-hook or a scythe blade?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Who's 'venting the noo steel?"

"Oh, they are all helping! It was Uncle Richard who first started it."

"Oh, Uncle Richard, was it?" he said thoughtfully. "Well, it won't niver do."

"Why?"

"Snap a two, and never bear no edge."

"Who says so?"

"Traade," he cried. "Steel was good enough as it weer."

Just then, as luck had it, Uncle Jack came into the smithy, and stood and watched the man as he scowled heavily and flourished out the hot steel as if he resented being watched.

"You are not forging those hand-bills according to pattern, my man," said Uncle Jack, as he saw one finished, Pannell beating the steel with savage vehemence, and seeming as if he wished it were Uncle Jack's head.

"That's way to forge a hand-bill," said the man sourly.

"Your way," said Uncle Jack quietly. "Not mine. I gave you a pattern. These are being made of a new steel."

"Good for nought," said the man; but Uncle Jack paid no heed, assuming not to have heard the remark.

"And I want them to look different to other people's."

"Do it yoursen then," said the great fellow savagely; and he threw down the hammer and pincers.

"Yes, perhaps I had better," said Uncle Jack, rolling up his white shirt-sleeves, after taking off his coat and throwing it to me.

I saw Pannell glower at the pure white skin that covered great muscles as big and hard as his own, while, after unhooking a leather apron from where it hung, the lever was touched, the fire roared, and at last Uncle Jack brought out a piece of white-hot steel, banged it on the anvil, and rapidly beat it into shape.

Every stroke had its object, and not one unnecessary blow fell, while in a short time he held in the water, which hissed angrily, a hand-bill that was beautifully made, and possessed a graceful curve and hook that the others wanted.

"There," said Uncle Jack. "That's how I want them made."

The man's face was set in a savage vindictive look, full of jealous annoyance, at seeing a well-dressed gentleman strip and use the smith's hammer and pincers better than he could have used them himself.

"Make me one now after that pattern," said Uncle Jack.

It seemed to me that the giant was going to tear off his leather apron furiously and stride out of the place; but just then Uncle Jack stretched out his great strong hand and lifted up Pannell's kitten, which had sprung upon the forge and was about to set its little paws on the hot cinders.

"Poor pussy!" he said, standing it in one hand and stroking it with the other. "You mustn't burn those little paws and singe that coat. Is this the one that had the mouse, Cob?"

Just as I answered, "Yes," I saw the great smith change his aspect, pick up the still hot hand-bill that Uncle Jack had forged, stare hard at it on both sides, and then, throwing it down, he seized the pincers in one hand, the forge shovel in the other, turned on the blast and made the fire glow, and at last whisked out a piece of white-hot steel.

This he in turn banged down on the anvil--_stithy_ he called it--and beat into shape.

It was not done so skilfully as Uncle Jack had forged his, but the work was good and quick, and when he had done, the man cooled it and held it out with all the rough independence of the north-countryman.

"Suppose that may do, mester," he said, and he stared at where Uncle Jack still stroked the kitten, which made a platform of his broad palm, and purred and rubbed itself against his chest.

"Capitally!" said Uncle Jack, setting down the kitten gently. "Yes; I wouldn't wish to see better work."

"Aw raight!" said Pannell; and he went on with his work, while Uncle Jack and I walked across the yard to the office.

"We shall get all right with the men by degrees, Cob," he said. "That fellow was going to be nasty, but he smoothed himself down. You see now the use of a master being able to show his men how to handle their tools."

"Yes," I said, laughing; "but that was not all. Pannell would have gone if it had not been for one thing."

"What was that?" he said.

"You began petting his kitten, and that made him friends."

I often used to go into the smithy when Pannell was at work after that, and now and then handled his tools, and he showed me how to use them more skilfully, so that we were pretty good friends, and he never treated me as if I were a spy.

The greater part of the other men did, and no matter how civil I was they showed their dislike by having accidents as they called them, and these accidents always happened when I was standing by and at no other time.

For instance a lot of water would be splashed, so that some fell upon me; a jet of sparks from a grindstone would flash out in my face as I went past; the band of a stone would be loosened, so that it flapped against me and knocked off my cap. Then pieces of iron fell, or were thrown, no one knew which, though they knew where, for the place was generally on or close by my unfortunate body.

I was in the habit of frequently going to look down in the wheel chamber or pit, and one day, as I stepped on to the threshold, my feet glided from under me, and, but for my activity in catching at and hanging by the iron bar that crossed the way I should have plunged headlong in.

There seemed to be no reason for such a slip, but the men laughed brutally, and when I looked I found that the sill had been well smeared with fat.

There was the one man in the grinders' shop, though, whom I have mentioned, and who never seemed to side with his fellow workers, but looked half pityingly at me whenever I seemed to be in trouble.

I went into the grinding-shop one morning, where all was noise and din, the wheels spinning and the steel shrieking as it was being ground, when all at once a quantity of water such as might have been thrown from a pint pot came all over me.

I turned round sharply, but every one was at work except the stout grinder, who, with a look of disgust on his face, stood wiping his neck with a blue cotton handkerchief, and then one cheek.

"Any on it come on you, mester?" he said.

"Any come on me!" I cried indignantly--"look."

"It be a shaam--a reg'lar shaam," he said slowly; "and I'd like to know who throwed that watter. Here, let me."

He came from his bench, or horse as the grinders call their seat, and kindly enough brushed the water away from my jacket with his handkerchief.

"Don't tak' no notice of it," he said. "They're nobbut a set o' fullish boys as plays they tricks, and if you tell on 'em they'll give it to you worse."

I took his advice, and said nothing then, but naturally enough, spoke to my uncles about it when we were alone at night.

"Never mind," said Uncle Dick. "I daresay we shall get the fellows to understand in time that we are their friends and not their enemies."

"Yes," said Uncle Jack; "they are better. I dare say it will all come right in time."

It was soon after this that I went into the grinding-shop one day while the men were at dinner, and going to the door that opened into the wheel chamber, which always had a fascination for me, I stood gazing down into its depths and listening to the splashing water.

"Iver try to ketch any o' them long eels, Mester Jacob?" said a familiar voice; and, starting and looking back, I saw that Gentles, the fat little grinder, was sitting down close to his wet grindstone eating his dinner, and cutting it with a newly ground knife blade forged out of our new steel.

"Eels, Gentles!" I said. "I didn't know there were any there."

"Oh, but there are," he said; "straange big 'uns. You set a line with a big bait on, and you'll soon hev one."

"What, down there by the wheel?"

"Ay, or oop i' the dam. Plenty o' eels, lad, theer."

"I'll have a try," I said eagerly, for the idea of catching one or two of the creatures was attractive.

From that I got talking to the man about his work, and he promised to let me have a few turns at grinding.

"On'y, what am I to say if thee coots theesen?" he cried with a chuckle.

"Oh, but you'll show me how to do it without!" I said laughing.

"Nay, but what's good o' thee wanting to grind? Want to tak' work out o' poor men's hands?"

"Nonsense!" I cried angrily. "Why, Gentles, you know better than that. All I want is to understand thoroughly how it is done, so that I can talk to the men about their work, and show them if it isn't right."

"Oh!" he said in a curious tone of voice. "Well, you coom any time when watter-wheel's going, and I'll show thee all that I know. 'Tain't much. Keeps men fro' starving."

"Why, Gentles," I cried; "you drew three pounds five last week, and I saw you paid."

"Three pun' five! Did I?" he said. "Ah, but that was a partic'lar good week. I've got a missus and a lot o' bairns to keep, and times is very bad, mester."

"I'm sorry for it," I said; and I went away and had a look in the books as soon as I reached the office, to find that Master Gentles never drew less than three pounds a-week; but I did not remind him of it, and during the next few days he very civilly showed me how his work was done--that is, the knack of holding and turning the blades, so that I rapidly acquired the way, and was too busy to notice the peculiar looks I received from the other men.

Of course I know how that I was a mere bungler, and clumsy, and slow in the extreme; but at the time I felt as if I must be very clever, and there was something very satisfactory in seeing a blackened hammered blade fresh from the forge turn bright and clean in my hands, while the edge grew sharp and even.

It was playing with edged tools with a vengeance, but I did not understand it then. _

Read next: Chapter 12. Pannell's Secret

Read previous: Chapter 10. "'Night, Mate"

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