[Footnote 1:  I need hardly remind my readers that I refer to the war of 1861 between the Northern and Southern States.  At this time it was in its third year, and the Southern States were closely blockaded and no cotton allowed to leave them.  Consequently the cotton-spinning counties of Yorkshire and Lancashire were soon destitute of the necessary staple, and to be “out of cotton” meant to more than a million cotton-spinning families absolute starvation—­for a cotton-spinner’s hands are fit for no other labor, and are spoiled by other work.  This starvation was borne with incredible faith and patience, because the success of the blockading States meant freedom for the slaves of the cotton-growing States.]

A large proportion of mill-owners had gone to the continent.  They could live economically there and keep their boys and girls at inexpensive schools and colleges.  They were not blamed much, even by their employees.  “Rathmell is starting wife and childer, bag and baggage for Geneva today,” said one of them to another, and the answer was, “Happen we would do the same thing if we could.  He hes a big family.  He’ll hev to spare at both ends to make his bit o’ brass do for all.  He never hed any more than he needed.”

This was an average criticism and not perhaps an unfair one.  Men, however, did not as a rule talk much on the subject; they just quietly disappeared.  Everyone knew it to be a most unexpected and unmerited calamity.  They had done nothing to deserve it, they could do nothing to prevent it.  Some felt that they were in the hands of Destiny; the large majority were patient and silent because they believed firmly that it was the Lord’s doing and so was wonderful in their eyes.  Some even said warmly it was time slavery was put down, and that millions could not be set free without somebody paying for it, and to be sure England’s skirts were not clean, and she would hev to pay her share, no doubt of it.  Upon the whole these poor, brave, blockaded men and women showed themselves at this time to be the stoutest and most self-reliant population in the world; and in their bare, denuded homes there were acted every day more living, loving, heroic stories than fiction or poetry ever dreamed of.  So far the sufferers of Hatton had kept their troubles to themselves and had borne all their privations with that nobility which belongs to human beings in whom the elements are finely mixed.

John had suffered with them.  His servants, men and women, had gradually been dismissed, until only a man and woman remained.  Jane had at first demurred and reminded John that servants must live, as well as spinners.

“True,” answered John, “but servants can do many things beside the one thing they are hired to do.  A spinner’s hands can do nothing but spin.  They are unfit for any other labor and are spoiled for spinning if they try it.  Servants live in other people’s houses.  Nearly all of Hatton’s spinners own, or partly own, their homes.  In its seclusion they can bear with patience whatever they have to bear.”