Joanie stood in front of the cart, hands on hips, chin jutting forward aggressively. The bargee said: ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘You have to stop work,’ she said.
He looked puzzled, but gave a scornful laugh and said: ‘I work for Mr Child, not you.’
‘This is Kingsbridge grain, and it can’t go to Combe, nor to France neither.’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘It is my business, and you can’t load that barge.’
‘Who’s going to stop me – you?’
‘Yes. Me and all these others.’
‘A bunch of women?’
‘Exactly. A bunch of women who won’t send their children hungry to bed. They’re not going to let you take this grain away.’
‘Well, I’m not going to stop working.’ He bent to a sack.
Joanie put her foot on the sack.
The man drew back his fist and punched the side of her head. She staggered away. Sal cried out, enraged.
He bent to the sack again but, before he could pick it up, he was set upon by half a dozen women. He was a strong man and he struggled energetically, throwing powerful punches that felled two or three women – who were immediately replaced by others. Sal was about to join in but she was not needed: the women grabbed his arms and legs and wrestled him to the ground.
His co-worker, coming off the barge for another sack, saw what was happening and joined in the brawl, hitting the women and trying to pull them off his mate. Two more bargees jumped on land and entered the fray.
Sal turned and saw Kit and Sue behind her. With a swift movement she picked both up, and pushed through the crowd with one under each arm. A moment later she spotted a kindly neighbour, Jenny Jenkins, a widow with no children who was fond of Kit and Sue. ‘Jenny, will you take them home where they’ll be safe?’
‘Of course,’ Jenny said. She took each child by the hand and walked away.
Sal turned to see Jarge right behind her. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘Good thinking.’
Sal was looking past him. Thirty or forty militiamen were arriving, led by Will Riddick. Spade’s brother-in-law, Freddie Caines, was among them. The soldiers were laughing at the waterside scene, cheering the Kingsbridge women who were beating up the Combe bargees. She heard Riddick roar: ‘What the hell are you men doing? Form up!’
The sergeant repeated the order, but the men ignored him.
At the same time, the bargees who had been up in the square, loading carts, came running down Main Street, shoving brutallythrough the crowd, no doubt coming to the rescue of their fellows at the waterfront. Some had improvised weapons, lengths of wood and sledgehammers and the like, that they used mercilessly to beat people out of their way.
In front of the Slaughterhouse, Mayor Fishwick was reading the Riot Act. No one was listening.
Sal heard Riddick yell: ‘Shoulder arms!’
She had heard this instruction before. The militiamen spent days drilling in a field across the river, not far from Barrowfield’s Mill. There were something like twenty different movements in the firing routine. AfterShoulder armscameOrder arms, thenSupport armsandFix bayonets, and after that she forgot. The men had done it so often that their movements became automatic, like Sal’s when she was operating the spinning jenny. The theory, Spade had told Sal, was that in battle they would follow the routine, regardless of the chaos around them. Sal wondered whether that really worked.
Sal could see that today the men were reluctant, their movements slow and uncoordinated; but they did not disobey.
Each man bit the end off a paper cartridge and poured a little powder into the priming pan. Then he inserted the main part of the cartridge into the barrel and packed it tight, using the ramrod slung under the barrel. Kit, who was interested in every kind of machine, had told Sal that the firing mechanism would strike a spark that lit the priming powder, which would flash into the touch hole to ignite the large gunpowder charge and send the ball hurtling through the air.
Surely, Sal thought, Kingsbridge lads like Freddie Caines won’t shoot their own womenfolk?
She kept her eye on Riddick but spoke quietly to Jarge. ‘Can you find me a stone?’
‘Easy.’
The street was cobbled, and the iron wheels of carts coming tothe waterside constantly damaged the surface and loosened the mortar. Repairs were continuous but there were always loose stones. Jarge passed her one. The smooth round surface fitted comfortably into her right hand.
