A Place Called Freedom - Ken Follett [89]
He folded the letter and pocketed it. He must not let anything undermine his determination. He would win the strike, then he would be able to save.
He kissed Dermot’s children and went along to the Queen’s Head.
His men were already arriving, and he got down to business right away.
One-Eye Wilson, a coal heaver who had been sent to check on new ships anchoring in the river, reported two coal carriers arrived on the morning tide. “From Sunderland, both of them,” he said. “I spoke to a sailor who came ashore for bread.”
Mack turned to Charlie Smith. “Go on board the ships and talk to the captains, Charlie. Explain why we’re on strike and ask them to wait patiently. Say we hope the shippers will soon give in and allow the new gangs to uncoal the ships.”
One-Eye interjected: “Why send a nigger? They might listen better to an Englishman.”
“I am an Englishman,” Charlie said indignantly.
Mack said: “Most of these captains were born in the northeast coal field, and Charlie speaks with their accent. Anyway, he’s done this sort of thing before and he’s proved himself a good ambassador.”
“No offense, Charlie,” said One-Eye.
Charlie shrugged and left to do his assigned task. A woman rushed in, pushing past him, and approached Mack’s table, breathless and flustered. Mack recognized Sairey, the wife of a bellicose coal heaver called Buster McBride. “Mack, they’ve caught a sailor bringing a sack of coal ashore and I’m afraid Buster will kill him.”
“Where are they?”
“They’ve put him in the outhouse at the Swan and locked him in, but Buster’s drinking and he wants to hang him upside-down from the clock tower, and some of the others are egging him on.”
This kind of thing happened constantly. The coal heavers were always on the edge of violence. So far Mack had been able to rein them in. He picked a big, affable boy called Pigskin Pollard. “Go along there and calm the boys down, Pigskin. The last thing we want is a murder.”
“I’m on my way,” he said.
Caspar Gordonson arrived with egg yolk on his shirt and a note in his hand. “There’s a barge train bringing coal to London along the river Lea. It should arrive at Enfield Lock this afternoon.”
“Enfield,” Mack said. “How far away is that?”
“Twelve miles,” Gordonson replied. “We can get there by midday, even if we walk.”
“Good. We must get control of the lock and prevent the barges passing. I’d like to go myself. I’ll take twelve steady men.”
Another coal heaver came in. “Fat Sam Barrows, the landlord of the Green Man, is trying to recruit a gang to uncoal the Spirit of Jarrow,” he said.
“He’d be lucky,” Mack commented. “Nobody likes Fat Sam: he’s never paid honest wages in his life. Still, we’d better keep an eye on the tavern, just in case. Will Trimble, go along there and snoop about. Let me know if there’s any danger of Sam getting sixteen men.”
“He’s gone to ground,” said Sidney Lennox. “He’s left his lodgings and no one knows where he went”
Jay felt awful. He had told his father, in front of Sir Philip Armstrong, that he could locate McAsh. He wished he had said nothing. If he failed to deliver on his promise, his father’s scorn would be blistering.
He had been counting on Lennox to know where to find McAsh. “But if he’s in hiding, how does he run the strike?” he said.
“He appears every morning at a different coffeehouse. Somehow his henchmen know where to go. He gives his orders and vanishes until the next day.”
“Someone must know where he lays his head,” Jay said plaintively. “If we can find him, we can smash this strike.”
Lennox nodded. He more than