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excess of the agricultural population over the means for housing it, the greater, therefore, in the
villages is the local surplus population and the most pestilential packing together of human
beings. The packing together of knots of men in scattered little villages and small country towns
corresponds to the forcible draining of men from the surface of the land. The continuous
superseding of the agricultural labourers, in spite of their diminishing number and the increasing
mass of their products, gives birth to their pauperism. Their pauperism is ultimately a motive to
their eviction and the chief source of their miserable housing which breaks down their last power
of resistance, and makes them more slaves of the landed proprietors and the farmers.
107
Thus the
minimum of wages becomes a law of Nature to them. On the other hand, the land, in spite of its
constant “relative surplus population,” is at the same time underpopulated. This is seen, not only
locally at the points where the efflux of men to towns, mines, railroad-making, &c., is most
marked. It is to be seen everywhere, in harvest-time as well as in spring and summer, at those
frequently recurring times when English agriculture, so careful and intensive, wants extra hands.
There are always too many agricultural labourers for the ordinary, and always too few for the
exceptional or temporary needs of the cultivation of the soil.
108
Hence we find in the official
documents contradictory complaints from the same places of deficiency and excess of labour
simultaneously. The temporary or local want of labour brings about no rise in wages, but a
forcing of the women and children into the fields, and exploitation at an age constantly lowered.
As soon as the exploitation of the women and children takes place on a larger scale, it becomes in
turn a new means of making a surplus population of the male agricultural labourer and of keeping
down his wage. In the east of England thrives a beautiful fruit of this vicious circle – the so-called
gang-system, to which I must briefly return here.
109
The gang-system obtains almost exclusively in the counties of Lincoln, Huntingdon, Cambridge,
Norfolk, Suffolk, and Nottingham, here and there in the neighbouring counties of Northampton,
Bedford, and Rutland. Lincolnshire will serve us as an example. A large part of this county is new
land, marsh formerly, or even, as in others of the eastern counties just named, won lately from the
sea. The steam-engine has worked wonders in the way of drainage. What were once fens and
sandbanks, bear now a luxuriant sea of corn and the highest of rents. The same thing holds of the
alluvial lands won by human endeavour, as in the island of Axholme and other parishes on the
banks of the Trent. In proportion as the new farms arose, not only were no new cottages built: old
ones were demolished, and the supply of labour had to come from open villages, miles away, by
long roads that wound along the sides of the hills. There alone had the population formerly found
shelter from the incessant floods of the winter-time. The labourers that dwell on the farms of 400-
1,000 acres (they are called “confined labourers”) are solely employed on such kinds of
agricultural work as is permanent, difficult, and carried on by aid of horses. For every 100 acres
there is, on an average, scarcely one cottage. A fen farmer, e.g., gave evidence before the
Commission of Inquiry:
“I farm 320 acres, all arable land. I have not one cottage on my farm. I have only
one labourer on my farm now. I have four horsemen lodging about. We get light
work done by gangs.”
110
The soil requires much light field labour, such as weeding, hoeing, certain processes of manuring,
removing of stones, &c. This is done by the gangs, or organised bands that dwell in the open
villages.
The gang consists of 10 to 40 or 50 persons, women, young persons of both sexes (13-18 years of
age, although the boys are for the most part eliminated at the age of 13), and children of both
sexes (6-13 years of age). At the head is the gang master, always an ordinary agricultural
labourer, generally what is called a bad lot, a scapegrace, unsteady, drunken, but with a dash of
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enterprise and savoir-faire. He is the recruiting-sergeant for the gang, which works under him,
not under the farmer. He generally arranges with the latter for piece-work, and his income, which
on the average is not very much above that of an ordinary agricultural labourer,
111
depends almost
entirely upon the dexterity with which he manages to extract within the shortest time the greatest
possible amount of labour from his gang. The farmers have discovered that women work steadily
only under the direction of men, but that women and children, once set going, impetuously spend
their life-force – as Fourier knew – while the adult male labourer is shrewd enough to economise
his as much as he can. The gang-master goes from one farm to another, and thus employs his
gang from 6 to 8 months in the year. Employment by him is, therefore, much more lucrative and
more certain for the labouring families, than employment by the individual farmer, who only
employs children occasionally. This circumstance so completely rivets his influence in the open
villages that children are generally only to be hired through his instrumentality. The lending out
of these individually, independently of the gang, is his second trade.
The “drawbacks” of the system are the overwork of the children and young persons, the
enormous marches that they make daily to and from the farms, 5, 6, and sometimes 7 miles
distant, finally, the demoralisation of the gang. Although the gang-master, who, in some districts
is called “the driver,” is armed with a long stick, he uses it but seldom, and complaints of brutal
treatment are exceptional. He is a democratic emperor, or a kind of Pied Piper of Hamelin. He
must therefore be popular with his subjects, and he binds them to himself by the charms of the
gipsy life under his direction. Coarse freedom, a noisy jollity, and obscenest impudence give
attractions to the gang. Generally the gangmaster pays up in a public house; then he returns home
at the head of the procession reeling drunk, propped up right and left by a stalwart virago, while
children and young persons bring up the rear, boisterous, and singing chaffing and bawdy songs.
On the return journey what Fourier calls “phanerogamie,” is the order of the day. The getting with
child of girls of 13 and 14 by their male companions of the same age, is common. The open
villages which supply the contingent of the gang, become Sodoms and Gomorrahs,
112
and have
twice as high a rate of illegitimate births as the rest of the kingdom. The moral character of girls
bred in these schools, when married women, was shown above. Their children, when opium does
not give them the finishing stroke, are born recruits of the gang.
The gang in its classical form just described, is called the public, common, or tramping gang. For
there are also private gangs. These are made up in the same way as the common gang, but count
fewer members, and work, not under a gang-master, but under some old farm servant, whom the
farmer does not know how to employ in any better way. The gipsy fun has vanished here, but
according to all witnesses, the payment and treatment of the children is worse.
The gang-system, which during the last years has steadily increased,
113
clearly does not exist for
the sake of the gang-master. It exists for the enrichment of the large farmers,
114
and indirectly of
the landlords.
115
For the farmer there is no more ingenious method of keeping his labourers well
below the normal level, and yet of always having an extra hand ready for extra work, of
extracting the greatest possible amount of labour with the least possible amount of money
116
and
of making adult male labour “redundant.” From the exposition already made, it will be
understood why, on the one hand, a greater or less lack of employment for the agricultural
labourer is admitted, while on the other, the gang-system is at the same time declared “necessary”
on account of the want of adult male labour and its migration to the towns.
117
The cleanly weeded
land, and the uncleanly human weeds, of Lincolnshire, are pole and counterpole of capitalistic
production.
118