The Sweeping Saga Collection: Poppy’s Dilemma, The Dressmaker’s Daughter, The Factory Girl. Nancy Carson
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by had been knocked up from their beds. They answered the call as well and joined those from the encampment, grabbing whatever they could that would serve as a weapon. It was time to set the record straight.
Poppy ran outside. Every man from the encampment still capable of standing must have been there. The ringleader was a ganger she knew only as ‘Billygoat Bob’. In the darkness, she could see that he was standing on a box as he incited the men with his ranting about injustice and bigotry. For the benefit of men who had been drinking elsewhere, he was explaining what had happened at The Wheatsheaf.
‘Nobody thought anythin’ on it, till the packman come back to the Grin and Bear It half an hour later with three bobbies. They came in like three devils, clouting everybody wi’ their blasted copper-sticks. The damned packman pointed out Lightning Jack and Dover Joe, so they dragged ’em out and chucked ’em in the Black Maria. Afore we knew what had hit us, they was away.’
The men were sufficiently inebriated to accept with fiery enthusiasm his tirades on the police and on the packman, which fed their lust for revenge.
‘If any one of you was in trouble, would ye not look to we, your own kind, to help yer in yer travail?’ Billygoat yelled over the hubbub, and there was a thunderous response of accord. ‘Well, Lightnin’ Jack and Dover Joe am innocent, but they’m in that stinkin’ gaol. It’s up to we to fetch ’em out afore they come before the beak and get sentenced. If we fail, they’ll end up doing penal servitude in Australia – that wilderness on the other side o’ the world … And they’ve both got women and families … It could have been you dragged out of that public house, mates. It could have been any one of you …’
A raucous jeer rang ominously through the night and a forest of arms shot up, most wielding pickaxe handles, shovels or hedge-bills. Billygoat stepped off his wooden box and led the incensed army away from the compound and up the hill towards Dudley. One or two stumbled and fell in their drunkenness, but they got up or were helped to their feet by mates bent on avenging this savage oppression.
Poppy followed behind. She had a vested interest. The other women, however, keen to witness some action, were caught up in the fervour of the moment as they hurried to keep up with the men, forming a separate, more passive group. The ragtag army fell more or less into step as they slogged on. Poppy had no idea of the time, but the streets were deserted except for the horde. They strode through the sleeping town, led by Billygoat Bob and those who knew the way, having deliberately followed the Black Maria which carried their comrades to the lock-up.
The two-hundred-strong mob reached the police station in Priory Street, a castellated, red-brick building with a mock portcullis through which they teemed. Hearing the commotion, the two policemen that were on duty presented themselves at the door on the other side of the yard that had rapidly filled up with the ranting crowd. One of the constables asked what the trouble was.
‘We want our two mates, Lightning Jack and Dover Joe,’ Billygoat Bob replied, with all the aplomb of a victorious army general negotiating a surrender. ‘They’ve been locked up for pinchin’ trinkets, but they took nothing. They’m innocent.’
‘Not according to what I’ve been told,’ the policeman said defiantly.
‘Then what you’ve bin told is a pack o’ lies. Some of these men here was in that public house, and they’d swear on their lives that them two men you’m holding had sod-all to do with any theft. Have you found the evidence on ’em?’
‘No, but they could’ve jettisoned that when they saw the arresting officers arrive.’
‘No evidence, eh?’ Billygoat called, loud enough for the throng to hear. ‘No evidence!’ He turned back to the policeman. ‘It strikes me as you should let ’em go, if you got no evidence.’
‘That ain’t up to me,’ the policeman said. ‘There’s nothing I can do. They’ll appear afore the magistrate tomorrow and he’ll decide what should happen to ’em. I’m just doing me duty.’
Billygoat turned to his men. ‘You heard what the constable said,’ he shouted. ‘He’s got no evidence, but there’s nothing he can do about it. There’s nothing he can do for us or our mates inside. He’s just doing his duty. Well, men … we have a duty as well …’
A roar of assent went up and the men surged forward in a mass. The policemen, realising that it was impossible to stand in the way of the mob and live, stood aside while the navvies poured into the police station. Inside, huge muscle-bound men wrenched open doors, pulling some off hinges, until one group came across the cells. Another policeman was on duty there. One of the mob asked him to unlock the padlock and set the prisoners free or be killed. Bravely, he refused. Acknowledging his courage and application to duty, Billygoat gave the order to leave him be. They would wrench the cell door down with physical force.
It took no more than five minutes. The two prisoners were helped out, to broad grins and triumphal cheers.
As the triumphant navvies and their women lurched back to the encampment, they dispersed into smaller groups. Poppy had gone up to her father as soon as she could get close to him and asked him if he really was innocent of the accusations levelled against him.
‘I’m innocent, my wench,’ he answered, ‘but I doubt the law will ever regard me as innocent. I had a necklace in me hand, I admit it – I was gunna buy it for you, my flower – but somebody snatched it from me and I don’t know who … Where’s your mother?’
‘She stayed with the kids.’
‘Good … I’m glad.’
‘You look worried, Dad …’
‘If I do, it’s ’cause we ain’t heard the last o’ this.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What I say. The line will be crawling wi’ police tomorrer. They’ll never be able to let us navvies get off scot-free. They’ll never let us get away with this.’
They walked on together, silently considering the implications, and Poppy was touched that her father had been about to buy her a necklace. A few of the men were singing lewd songs as they trudged drunkenly homewards. Then, as the various clusters of navvies and women lumbered down Vicar Street towards Blowers Green, Poppy was aware of somebody else at her side and turned to see who it was.
‘What’s goin’ on, Poppy?’
‘Minnie! Where did you spring from?’
‘From that alleyway.’ She pointed over her shoulder. ‘I was with that Tom. So what’s up?’
Poppy told her, then asked what she was doing out so late.
‘That Tom,’ Minnie whispered behind her hand, rolling her eyes self-consciously. ‘He’s a bit of a buck. We was having it against the wall in that alley when we heard this commotion and saw all the navvies marching towards the town. I knew Dog Meat would be among ’em, so I thought it was a good time to leave Tom and get back in bed afore Dog Meat got back. Anyway, at that, Tom says, “Hey, I ain’t finished yet,” so we settled back to doin’ it again. It took longer than I thought …’ Minnie giggled unashamedly. ‘So if Dog Meat ever asks, I was with you on the way up to the gaol, as well as on the way back. I’ve bin with you all night. All right?’
Poppy chuckled. ‘You’re a crafty one, Min, and no two ways. Are you seein’ him again, this Tom?’
‘Who knows? I might. He’s worthy.’
Sheba, who had waited up anxiously for news of Lightning Jack, was overjoyed when he returned to Rose Cottage. She took his arm with concern and drew him to her proprietorially as he entered the hut.
‘Are you hurt, Jack?’ she asked, with sympathy in her eyes. ‘Did the police hurt you?’
‘I copped a clout across the shoulder, but I daresay it’s only bruised. Nothing to fret about.’
‘Oh, Jack, I was that worried. Thank God you’m all right.’
‘Aye,