A bridge crossed the river from the yard and communicated with the
mills--a heterogeneous pile of dim, dun colours and irregular roofs
huddled together with silver-bright excrescences of corrugated iron. A
steady hum and drone as of some gigantic beehive ascended from the
mills, and their combined steam and water power produced a tremor of
earth and a steady roar in the air; while a faint dust storm often
flickered about the entrance ways.

The store-house reeked with that fat, heavy odour peculiar to hemp and
flax. It was a lofty building of wide doors and few windows. Here in the
gloom lay bales and stacks of raw material. Italy, Russia, India, had
sent their scutched hemp and tow to Bridetown. Some was in the rough;
the dressed line had already been hackled and waited in bundles of long
hemp composed of wisps, or 'stricks' like horses' tails. The silver and
amber of the material made flashes of brightness in the dark storerooms
and drew the light to their shining surfaces. Tall, brown posts
supported the rafters, and in the twilight that reigned here, a man
moved among the bales piled roof-high around him. He was gathering rough
tow from a broken bale of Russian hemp and had stripped the Archangel
matting from the mass.

Levi Baggs, the hackler, proceeded presently to weigh his material and
was taking it over the bridge to the hackling shop when he met John
Best, the foreman. They stopped to speak, and Levi set down the barrow
that bore his load.

"I see you with him, yesterday. Did you get any ideas out of the man?"

Baggs referred to the new master and John Best understood.